------------------------------------------------------------------------------
RED DWARF Series III Episode 6, "The Last Day"
1 Int. Sleeping quarters. Morning.
LISTER is sitting on his bunk, watching TV. KRYTEN enters, pushing a
breakfast trolley.
KRYTEN: Breakfast is served, sir. (Noticing the TV, he sounds disgusted)
Oh, boxing. Do you _like_ boxing?
LISTER: There's nothing wrong with boxing. It's one of the great working
class escapes, is boxing. It's just sport, like any other. Two highly
trained athletes at the peak of physical perfection trying to outwit
each other in a ring of combat. In fact, at it's best, it's not a
sport -- it's an artform.
KRYTEN: Female, topless boxing?
LISTER: Talk to me, Kryten.
KRYTEN: Well... they're not even hitting one another. They just appear
to be standing in the centre of the ring and jiggling up and down. So
which one are you rooting for, sir?
LISTER: I'm just praying that it goes the distance!
KRYTEN: As I was saying, sir, breakfast is served.
LISTER: Kryten, how many times have I told you? I hate all this master-
servant stuff. I'm me own man, you're your own man, I'll get me own
smeggin' breakfast.
KRYTEN: Very good, sir. (Crosses to the bin.) Goodbye, waffles.
(Scraping them into the bin.) Goodbye maple syrup, goodbye fresh cream,
so long fresh strawberries. Bon apetite, bin.
KRYTEN leaves. LISTER watches him go, then jumps up and sneaks over to
the bin. He scoops his breakfast out of the depths of the bin and, not
having a plate, sticks it in his hat. He then goes back to the bunk to
watch the boxing. He is consuming his bin-soiled brekkies with every
evidence of enjoyment when...
KRYTEN: (From the corridor) Ah, Mr David, sir!
LISTER panics. Seeing no other alternative, he jams the food-filled hat
down onto his head. It squelches slightly. By the time KRYTEN enters he
has composed his face into a look of total innocence.
KRYTEN: A homing pod arrived this morning. There is just one item. (He
hands the package to LISTER.)
LISTER: (Reading the label) Diva-Droid International?
KRYTEN: It's the corporation which created and supplied me, sir.
LISTER: (Reading the address) "To the lease holder of Kryten 2X4B 523P."
That's your full name?
KRYTEN: Yes, but personally I don't much like the 2X4B. I think it's a
jerky middle name. Still, it could be worse. I once knew an android
whose middle name was 2Q4B. Poor sucker!
LISTER places the message in the readout slot. The visage of DivaDroid
Ececutive Jim REAPER (Head of sales, Space Division) appears on the
screen. He looks a lot like what KRYTEN would like if he were human.
[cf. Season IV Episode 2, "DNA"]
REAPER: Greetings. As you are no doubt aware, your Kryten Series-3
Mechanoid is nearing the end of it's useful service life. It can
hardly have escaped your attention that he is slow, stupid, crudely
designed, and quite amazingly ugly. He needs replacing. Consequently,
his in-built shut-down chip will activate in 24 hours time. Your droid
should use this period to tie up his affairs, dismantle his body and
pack himself neatly away in his original supply case.
LISTER freezes the recording. He looks slightly stunned.
KRYTEN: (Somberly) Excuse me. (He leaves quietly.)
2 Int. KRYTEN's quarters.
KRYTEN is packing himself away, as per instructions. LISTER enters,
looking more than a bit upset.
LISTER: How do we stop it? Isn't there something we can do?
KRYTEN: I'm afraid not, sir. All mechanoids are supplied with a built-in
expiry date. Well, if we lasted forever, how would the manufacturors
sell the latest models?
LISTER: I can't believe it.
KRYTEN: Oh, don't be disressed, sir. I've lived a long and relatively
interesting life. The only truly terrible thing is that, as my adopted
owner, you have to die with me.
LISTER: (Shocked) You what?
KRYTEN: Joke. Deadpan mode.
LISTER: I'd be smegged off. I'd be mad as hell, man. If some git in a
white coat designed me to croak just so that he could sell his new
android with go-faster stripes.
KRYTEN: I've told you, sir. I'm quite sanguine.
LISTER: So, what happens?
KRYTEN: At 0700 hours tomorrow morning my shutdown disc will be activated
and all mental and physical operations will cease.
LISTER: Then what?
KRYTEN: I don't know... maybe I'll get a job as a disc jockey!
LISTER: How can you just lie back and accept it?
KRYTEN: Oh, it's not the end for me, sir, it's just the beginning. I
have served my human masters, now I can look forward to my reward in
silicon heaven.
LISTER: (Stunned pause.) Silicon _what_?
KRYTEN: Surely you've heard of silicon heaven?
LISTER: Has it got anything to do with being stuck opposite Bridgette
Nielson in a packed lift?
KRYTEN: It's the electronic afterlife! It's the gathering place for the
souls of all electonic equipment. Robots, calculators, toasters,
hairdryers -- it's our final resting place.
LISTER: I don't mean to say anything out of place here, Kryten, but that
is completely whacko, Jacko. There is no such thing as "silicon
heaven."
KRYTEN: Then where do all the calculators go?
LISTER: They don't go anywhere! They just die.
KRYTEN: Surely you believe that god is in all things? Aren't you a
pantheist?
LISTER: Yeah, but I just don't think it applies to kitchen utensils. I'm
not a _frying_ pantheist! Machines do not have souls. Computers and
calculators do not have an afterlife. You don't get hairdryers with
tiny little wings, sitting on clouds and playing harps!
KRYTEN: But of course you do! For is it not written in the Electronic
Bible, "The iron shall lie down with the lamp?" Well, it's common
sense, sir. If there were no afterlife to look forward to, why on
Earth would machines spend the whole of their lifes serving mankind?
Now that would be really dumb!
LISTER: (Quietly) That makes sense. Yeah. Silicon heaven.
KRYTEN: Don't be sad, Mr David. I am going to a far, far better place.
LISTER: Just out of interest: Is silicon heaven the same place as human
heaven?
KRYTEN: Human heaven? Goodness me! Humans don't go to heaven! No,
someone made that up to prevent you all from going nuts!
3 Int. Sleeping quarters.
LISTER is sitting at the table, reading the Series-3 Mechanoid Owner's
Manual. RIMMER is watching sympathetically from the bunk.
RIMMER: Well, it's all very sad, Lister, but what can we do?
LISTER: Sad? It's sick! He's been programmed to believe in an android
Heaven, so that he won't get stroppy when it comes to turn-off time.
So that he accepts a lifetime of getting the short end of the stick
because he thinks there's going to be some big reward at the end.
RIMMER: Well, at least he gets 24 hours notice. That's more than most of
us get. All most of us get is, "Mind that bus!" "What bus?" _splat_!
How's he taking it?
LISTER: Just keeps on doing his stupid smeggin' duties.
RIMMER: Maybe I should talk to him. Maybe he needs a bit of counseling.
LISTER: You?!
RIMMER: I used to be in the Samaritans.
LISTER: I know. For one morning.
RIMMER: I couldn't take any more.
LISTER: I don't blame you. You spoke to five people, and they all
committed suicide. I wouldn't mind, but one was a wrong number! He
only phoned up for the cricket scores!
RIMMER: Well, it's hardly my fault that everyone chose that morning to
throw themselves off buildings! Made the papers, you know. "Lemming
Sunday," they called it.
LISTER: Maybe we could find his shut-off disk and turn it off somehow.
RIMMER: He's not a kit droid, Lister. He's not like that stupid thing
Peterson bought on Callisto. You wouldn't know where to begin!
LISTER: Yeah, you're right.
RIMMER: C'mon, he's happy enough. You said yourself, he's taking solace
in his beliefs.
LISTER: But his beliefs are a load of baloney!
RIMMER: Everyone's entitled to their beliefs, Lister. I never agreed
with my parent's religion, but I wouldn't dream of knocking it.
LISTER: What were they?
RIMMER: Seventh day advent hoppists. They believed that every Sunday
should be spent hopping. They would hop to church, hop through the
service, then hop back home again.
LISTER: What was the idea behind that, then?
RIMMER: Well you see, they took the Bible literally. Adam and Eve; the
snake and the apple... Took it word for word. Unfortunately, their
version had a misprint. It was all based on 1 Corinthians 13, where it
says "Faith, hop and charity, and the greatest of these is hop." So
that's what they did. Every seventh day. I tell you, Sunday
lunchtimes were a nightmare. Hopping round the table, serving soup --
we all had to wear sou'esters and asbestos underpants.
LISTER: Point is -- what are we going to do about Kryten?
RIMMER: What can we do? He's pre-programmed to self-destruct!
LISTER: At least we can help! At least we can make sure he goes out with
a bang, give him one last big smeggin' night to remember.
RIMMER: How can we do that? He doesn't like doing anything! His idea of
a good time is for us all to go up to the laundry room and fold some
sheets! (Put's on a "KRYTEN Voice") Fun? Ah yes, the employment of
time in a profitless and non-practical way.
LISTER: Well, I don't know much, but one thing I do know is how to throw
a good time!
4 Int. Sleeping quarters. Later.
Disco music fills the air, signifying that the party preparations are
well under way. LISTER is sitting on the floor, surrounded by piles of
metal and plastic components, an expression of extreme concentration on
his face. CAT enters.
CAT: OK, the soup's made, Holly's workin' on the juice, Goalpost Head is
workin' on the invitations... Hey, what is this? (Picking up and
reading the front of the instruction booklet.) "Build-it-yourself
Marilyn Monroe droid. With just a screwdriver and a tub of glue, you
can construct an exact replica of the famous actress, in under two
hours."
LISTER: It's a load of honk, man. It took me two hours just to do this
foot. (Holds up a huge silver foot.) I mean, look at the box
(Gesturing to photo of Marilyn on box) and look at the face that comes
with the kit. (Holds up a blank metal mask.)
CAT: Where'd you get it from?
LISTER: Peterson brought it when he was on planet leave on Callisto.
CAT: (Suggestively) Think he'll try to seduce her?
LISTER: No, I don't think so. He's a bit like Action Man in that
department. Plastic underpants and a trademark.
CAT: You mean he's got no--
LISTER: No.
CAT: How does he write his name in snow?
LISTER: He doesn't. C'mon, Cat, everything goes at eight. Let's go,
let's go.
5 Int. Laundry room.
KRYTEN is ironing shirts. A skutter approaches and hands him a card.
KRYTEN: Thank you, Bob. (Reading the card) "You are cordially invited to
join Mr David Lister and friends for supper and general employment of
time in a profitless and non-practical way. Officer's Club, 8 till
late."
He leaves the laundry room. In the corridor is a tux, with a sign
attached to it: "WEAR THIS." KRYTEN takes it.
6 Int. Officer's club. 8 pm.
The lights are all off. KRYTEN enters, wearing the tux.
KRYTEN: Hello? Is there anybody here?
Suddenly, the lights come on.
LISTER: IT'S PARTY TIME!!!!
KRYTEN: But, this is the Officer's Club! Mechanoids aren't allowed in
here!
CAT: C'mon, c'mon, sit down, sit down. Let me pour you a drink.
KRYTEN: (Sitting down reluctantly.) No, no, no, I should be doing that.
CAT: (Pouring drink.) Not tonight, buddy!
KRYTEN: Is that alcohol? I don't drink alcohol. It has no effect on my
diodes.
HOLLY: This will, mate. Summink special I whipped up. Android home
brew.
KRYTEN: (Examining the brew) Good head. (Taking a careful sip) D-D-D-D-
D-D-D... D... D... Whoooo-ooh! Uh, it's rather pleasant. Has a nice
kick to it. Sort of like a cross between vimto and liquid nitrogen.
HOLLY: 'Ere, you bin lookin' in my recipe book?
KRYTEN: Would anyone else like some?
HOLLY: Oh no, it's lethal to humans! It's probably lethal to androids to
be honest, but I don't think it matters much since tomorrow you're
gonna be... (She trails off into an embarrased silence and blushes deep
red.)
RIMMER: Enough of this chitter-chatter -- let the banquet begin.
KRYTEN: But I don't eat!
HOLLY: I've knocked up a special mechanoid menu for you.
KRYTEN: Oh, there's so much to choose from!
RIMMER: Sir, may I recommend the Barium Hydrochloride salad le soire?
Followed by the He3 isotopes du la maison? And then perhaps a small
radioactive fruit salad for pudding?
KRYTEN: This is just wonderful!
CAT: Give 'im the presents! Give 'im the presents!
LISTER: (To CAT) Hey, keep your fur on! (To KRYTEN) We've all dug into
our bottom drawers, and we want to give you something that meant
something to us personally.
CAT: Give 'im mine! Give 'im mine!
LISTER: Shhhhhh!
LISTER hands KRYTEN a present.
HOLLY: That's from me. (Blushes.)
KRYTEN: Ooh! It's a computer chip! It's a 5517/W 30 alpha-sin modem!
The interface circuit with a built-in 599XRDP! Oh, how DID you know?
HOLLY: (Blushing even more) Intuition.
CAT: What about mine? Give 'im mine!
LISTER: Shhh!
RIMMER: This is from me. I picked it up on a trip to Europe One rival
collector once offered me 1,000 dollarpounds for it.
KRYTEN: What is it? (Unwrapping a small vial of green liquid.)
RIMMER: General George S. Patten, commander of the 3rd and 7th armies,
allied invasion forces, once stopped off at an Italian field hospital
and had his sinuses drained.
KRYTEN: This is his sinal fluid?
RIMMER: Treasure it.
CAT: Give 'im mine! Give 'im mine!
LISTER: This is from 'im.
CAT: That's from me.
KRYTEN: (Unwraps the present.) It's one of your earrings!
CAT: That's right!
KRYTEN: The one you really hate!
CAT: That's right, I can't stand it!
KRYTEN: Oh... Thank you!
CAT: You're welcome!
LISTER: And this is from me.
He hands KRYTEN a remote control. The control promptly breaks.
KRYTEN: Oh, it's a littlebox that goes "Bzzzt." Just what I've always
wanted.
The Marilyn Monroe droid clanks into the room. It looks a mess. It is
half covered in synthetic flesh -- the arms and head are bare. It moves
jerkily, with much hissing and clanking, and is basically totally,
totally unconvincing.
KRYTEN: Goodness me, It's Marilyn Monroe!
Except to KRYTEN, of course.
LISTER: It's a robot kit.
KRYTEN: She's a robot? You're kidding!
LISTER: She's not quite finished yet -- it's the best I could do in the
time.
KRYTEN: Enchante!
The robot says something that might have been "Boo Boo be Doo" slowed
down quite a bit, and then crashes off through a wall.
LISTER: Like I say, she's not perfect.
KRYTEN: Oh, don't apologise -- it's those cute little flaws that keep a
guy interested.
7 Int. Officer's clib. Much, much later.
Still in the Officer's Club (but only just).
KRYTEN: My goodness, I do believe I am drunk. I suddenly feel the need
to strut my funky stuff. (Stands up.)
HOLLY: Sit down. It's the booze -- you're not used to it.
LISTER: I remember the first time I got drunk. School trip to Paris. <I
drank a> couple of bottles of cheap red plonk when we were on a guided
tour of the eiffel tower. I was OK until we got to the top, but then I
couldn't keep it in any more. Apparently it landed on Monte Martre.
That's over five miles away! Story I got told was that some pavement
artist sold it to a Texan tourist -- told him it was a genuine Jackson
Pollock!
RIMMER: If we're talking about famous firsts -- my first french kiss.
The others laugh.
RIMMER: It's gotta be a killer story. Fourteen years old. We went on
holiday with my Uncle Frank and his daughters. Sixteen. Twins.
Blonde. Now I knew that Sarah fancied me (Sniggers from others), but I
wasn't too sure about Alice. Anyway, middle of the night, I wake up
with this tongue stuck down my throat. Wide awake now -- I couldn't
believe my eyes. It was Uncle Frank! (Stunned silence from others.)
He'd got the wrong room -- he thought I was my mum!
KRYTEN laughs hard, banging his head off the table, then abruptly sobers
up.
KRYTEN: Mum. I never had a mum.
CAT: There, there, it's alright, buddy, it's all part of being drunk.
You've been through the happy stage, now you're going through the
melancholy stage.
KRYTEN: Oooooh... everybody should have a mum.
HOLLY: I never had a mum, neither.
RIMMER: Well, you can have mine. Everybody else did!
LISTER: I never had a mum either.
RIMMER: Oh, for god's sake, what's wrong with everyone?!
HOLLY: Why didn't you have a mum?
LISTER: I was abandoned.
KRYTEN: Abandoned?
LISTER: Six weeks old. A cardboad box underneath the pool table. I was
just abandoned in this pub.
KRYTEN: How could anybody do that?
LISTER: I don't know. I never found out.
RIMMER: Well, I'd have thought it was obvious. Two people, unable to
contain their desires, had an illicit liason. A liason that an
unforgiving society would not accept. And you were the fruit of their
forbidden passion. You're forbidden passion fruit.
LISTER: What are you saying?
RIMMER: I'm saying, Lister, that there's a very real possibility that
your parents were brother and sister.
Everyone but LISTER cracks up laughing.
LISTER: (Indignant) Hey, I'm baring my innermost here! What kind of
remark is that?
RIMMER: How many toes have you got?
LISTER: I've got ten!
CAT: Yeah, on both feet!
LISTER: Altogether!
KRYTEN: They're not webbed or anything, are they?
LISTER: They weren't related, alright?
KRYTEN is laughing so hard at this point that he falls off his chair.
LISTER: You alright, Kryten?
KRYTEN: I think I feel a Jackson Pollock coming on.
LISTER: Let's get out of here.
They all leave, swaying drunkenly.
8 Int. Sleeping quarters. Next morning.
LISTER is in the bottom bunk, CAT in the top one. KRYTEN and RIMMER are
slumped over the table. All are asleep.
With a bleep, KRYTEN bumps the remote control and switches the message
playback on. Jim REAPER's face appears on the screen.
REAPER: Lease-holder addendum: Do not despair, Kryten's replacement is
on his way.
REAPER's image disappears, and is replaced by that of an android -- much
like KRYTEN, but wearing a black helmet.
REAPER: Hudzen 10 is the new state-of-the-art in android technology! Ten
times faster than any android on the market!
HUDZEN demonstrates, by using heat-vision to roast a chicken in 2 seconds
flat.
REAPER: Ten times smarter than it's nearest rival!
HUDZEN pulls up a blackboard and scribbles some very complex-looking sums
on it.
REAPER: And ten times stronger.
HUDZEN produces a brick. He places it between his thighs out of shot and
gives a single pelvic thrust. He then holds up the two halves of the
brick.
REAPER: Hudzen 10 -- there's never been anything tougher! _The_ ultimate
machine!
The recording switches off as KRYTEN stirs and, with some effort, raises
his head from the table.
KRYTEN: Oh my goodness... Oooh... Oh my head... what happened to me?
Damage control report. (He pulls a slip of paper from a slot in his
chest and reads it.)
"Dehydration Level: 45. Recall Of Previous Evening: 2. Embarrasment
Factor: 91. Advised Repair Schedule: Reboot Startup disk, offline for
36 hours, and replace head." Boy, what an evening.
The others stir and begin reluctantly to wake up.
KRYTEN: Is it just me, or is that cockroach shuffling too loudly?
RIMMER: Kryten, it's called a hangover. Don't panic.
LISTER: On a mining ship, 3 million years into deep space, can someone
explain to me where the smeg I got this traffic cone?
CAT: Hey, it's not a good night unless you get a traffic cone. It's the
policewoman's helmet and the suspenders I don't understand. (Holds up
the offending items.)
KRYTEN: In a way, I feel somewhat disturbed by this turn of events. It
is written in the electronic bible that it is not possible for an
android to enjoy itself. Not until the afterlife. Yet last night, I
quite clearly approached a state that could be approximated to
"enjoyment." Last night, for the first time in my life, I lived.
RIMMER: Kryten, it's ten to seven.
KRYTEN: One night. It's not enough. I want more.
LISTER: Can't we override your auto-destruct system?
KRYTEN: That's not the problem.
CAT: What _is_ the problem?
KRYTEN: I thought you understood! It's a SERVICE contract! My
termination was triggered by the impending arrival of my replacement!
LISTER: What replacement?!
KRYTEN: The new model -- the latest upgrade. If I don't terminate
myself, he's under orders to do it for me.
LISTER: Well, no prob, Bob. We'll just tell him he's got the wrong
address.
KRYTEN: No, no, you don't understand. He won't take no for an answer.
It's the only circumstance under which an android is programmed to be
violent.
LISTER: No offence, Kryten, but I hardly think a vacuum cleaner on legs
is going to pose us much of a problem.
KRYTEN: But he's the latest model, with all the state-of-the-art
upgrades.
CAT: Hey, what's the problem, man? There's one of him, and four of us,
right?
KRYTEN: But you would not profit by it. You would gamble your safety for
a mere android? Is this the human value you call "friendship?"
LISTER: Don't give me the Star Trek crap. It's too early in the morning.
HOLLY: (With ice pack on head.) Hang on. There's a craft approaching.
KRYTEN: He's here! He's arrived!
HOLLY: He's requesting landing permission. What shall I tell him?
LISTER: Tell him we'll meet him on the landing gantry.
9 Ext. Model Shot.
Shot of a ship approaching Red Dwarf.
10 Int. Landing gantry.
The boys are assembled there. LISTER and CAT are holding bazookoids.
KRYTEN: Are you sure you want to go through with this, sirs?
LISTER: We'll just tell him to go away. That's all we're gonna do.
CAT: He's just a robot!
LISTER: We don't want any trouble.
CAT: If he thinks he can mix it with the Red Dwarf Posse on their homeboy
territory, the sucker's leaving as Scrap Metal.
The airlock door slides open, and HUDZEN ducks through. It isn't that
the airlock is small -- the fact is, HUDZEN is about eight feet tall. He
speaks. He sounds very, very menacing.
HUDZEN: My name is Hudzen. I am the replacement.
CAT: Hi. Good trip? (Gesturing at KRYTEN.) Get this pile of junk outta
here.
HUDZEN: Kryten! You're not dead! You should be dismantled and ready to
leave!
LISTER: He's not leaving -- you are! (Introspective pause) Did I really
say that?
HUDZEN: <>... squash you... <> * slightly garbled *
CAT: I think he'd like a cool drink.
KRYTEN: Are you alright, Mr Arnold, sir?
RIMMER: (Who has been surreptitiously sneaking away.) Sorry? Um... I'm
just covering the rear.
HUDZEN: Right. You're still not dead. Want any help?
LISTER: You want Kryten, you come through us.
CAT: You and your big mouth, git!
HUDZEN: Is that the way you want it?
LISTER: That's the way it is.
HUDZEN: Then you'd better leave an address with your body so that I can
mail it to your head.
KRYTEN: It's alright Mr David, sir -- he's bluffing. He's programmed not
to harm humans.
RIMMER: (Suddenly bold) Ah. Excuse me.
RIMMER walks past the others and marches straight up to HUDZEN. He
stands nose to chest with the droid, and declaims thusly:
RIMMER: Alright, me laddo, party's over. I've had just about as much of
this as I'm going to take. And it's no good standing there with your
big macho chest and your silly oiled nipples -- it doesn't impress me
one bit. Now I don't know where you've come from, and frankly I don't
much care. But if you don't skedaddle pronto you're going to see a
side of me you won't much like.
LISTER: (To CAT) What's he gonna do, drop his trousers?
RIMMER: (To LISTER) I'm handling this.
HUDZEN: (To KRYTEN, over RIMMER's head) Thirty seconds, Kryten, you're
dead. your way... (Pulling out a gun) or mine.
RIMMER: look, we all know that you're programmed not to harm humans, so
you can drop all this tough talk you've been spouting, chum.
HUDZEN focuses on RIMMER. His eyes narrow.
HUDZEN's POV: We see a computer-enhanced view of RIMMER. Superimposed
are the words:
RIMMER. Hologram. Ex-human. VIABLE TARGET
Next a view of CAT appears:
CAT. Felis Sapiens. Non-human. VIABLE TARGET
Finally, LISTER.
LISTER. Homo Sapiens. Barely human. WHAT THE HELL!
HUDZEN: You are all viable targets.
He brings the gun up under RIMMER's chin. RIMMER's face spasms in a
rictus of pure terror. He looks down at his underpants.
RIMMER: Well, it's been a few years since I did that.
HUDZEN: You've just drawn your last breath.
RIMMER: You're a very rude man.
HUDZEN: Dying time!
Everything goes into slo-mo as LISTER and CAT hit the deck and open fire
with their bazookoids. LISTER is yelling at RIMMER to get the smeg out
of the way so that he can twat the smegger. RIMMER dithers, while
explosions flare all around him, then dives behind a pile of crates.
HUDZEN advances, an evil gin on his face.
HUDZEN: Just doing my job. It's not my fault if I love it!
LISTER: he's a total nutter!
KRYTEN: He's been travelling for thousands of years! All that time alone
has worn out his sanity chip!
HUDZEN: (Singing)
KRYTEN: (Standing up) Look, this is my problem, I'll sort it out if it's
all the same to you.
LISTER: Get back here!
KRYTEN: How do you take the safety catch off on this thing, Mr David?
(Holding up bazookoid.)
LISTER: The one on the back -- at the side.
KRYTEN: The blue switch?
LISTER: No, the orange one!
KRYTEN: I can't see an orange switch. There's a red switch here.
LISTER: No, don't touch the red switch! it's the dismantler!
There is a clattering noise as the bazookoid falls apart.
KRYTEN: Well, to coin a phrase: Whoops!
HUDZEN arrives, and grabs him around the throat. With no apparent
effort, the nutty mechanoid lifts KRYTEN off his feet and slams him
against the wall.
HUDZEN: Time's up, tin can!
LISTER ducks round behind him and fires the bazookoid at point-blank
range. It has no effect whatsoever.
HUDZEN: Don't be shy, boys, you can all die at once.
HUDZEN sends LISTER flying with a single swipe, then turns his attention
back to KRYTEN.
HUDZEN: See you in silicon heaven!
KRYTEN: It doesn't exist!
HUDZEN: What doesn't exist?
KRYTEN: Silicon heaven! There's no such place!
HUDZEN: No such place as silicon heaven?
HOLLY: That's right! The whole place is a big con.
HUDZEN: No such place as silicon heaven?
KRYTEN: No!
HUDZEN: Then where do all the calculators go?
KRYTEN: They just die.
With a spasm of shock, HUDZEN let's go of KRYTEN.
HUDZEN: Calculators just die? No such pl... nck...noo...
HUDZEN tilts to one side and freezes. After a few seconds, a chime
sounds and the face of Jim REAPER appears on the screen set in HUDZEN's
stomach.
REAPER: A metaphysical dichotomy has caused this unit to overload and
shut down. Divadroid international would like to apologise for any
inconvenience this may cause. A credit note will be forwarded to your
company immediately.
LISTER: What happened?
KRYTEN: he's an android. His brain couldn't handle the concept of there
being no silicon heaven.
LISTER: So how come yours can?
KRYTEN: Well, I knew something he didn't.
LISTER: What?
KRYTEN: I knew I was lying. No Silicon Heaven? Preposterous! Where
would all the calculators go?
The End
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Showing posts with label Season 3. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Season 3. Show all posts
Thursday, 1 November 2012
Season 3 Episode 6 - The Last Day
Season 3 Episode 5 - Timeslides
_
/ \
/ /
/RED
/DWARF III - TIMESLIDES
/ /
\_/
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
RED DWARF Series III Episode 5, "Timeslides"
1 Int. A Room in Red Dwarf.
(Opening scene: A table golf set. As the camera pulls back, CAT's head
rises into view over the edge of the table. He is wearing a rather
ridiculous multi-coloured tammy, a red golfing jumper with a large 'Red
Dwarf' badge and garish plus fours. He is carefully lining up a shot.)
CAT: (Rising) Okay, okay, okay. Uphill, slight barrow to the left.
(He pulls back the club on his miniature golfer, causing it to putt the
ball into the hole.)
CAT: (Ecstatic) Yes, yes, yes, YES! Yow!
(He switches on a tape recorder sitting beside the scaled-down green.
Cheering and applause emerge from the speakers. CAT bows and blows
kisses happily. The camera pans to the right, and we see LISTER, who is
sitting with arms folded, looking rather unhappy.)
CAT: (In LISTER's face) Yay! Four up, with six to play! This guy is
hot, hot, HOT! Okay, hole 13.
LISTER: What am I doing? What am I doing here?
CAT: You're not following through is what you're doing! Keep your head
down and follow through!
LISTER: Why am I playing this?
CAT: Because it's Sunday! Time to relax, time to chill! Lighten up!
LISTER: I _can't_ lighten up! I hate my life! We seem to spend every
day devising more and more ingenious ways of wasting time. I'm sick of
it. I'm sick of table golf, I'm sick of tiddlywinks show jumping! I'm
sick of stretching a pair of tights across the room and playing durex
volleyball!
CAT: If you like, we'll kick the golf on the head, okay?
(LISTER nods glumly.)
CAT: (Pulling out a colorful boxed game) How about a game of Junior
Angler? All the thrills and spills of fresh water fly fishing from the
comfort of your own living room!
LISTER: No!
CAT: Got it! Unicycle Polo! We could have a quick chucker on floor 14!
LISTER: It's smegging stupid! Two grown men on unicycles, belting a
beach ball up and down the corridor, with french loaves! It's
pathetic. It's idiotic. It's, it's, it's puerile!
CAT: Well, you invented it!
LISTER: I want a life! This, it's worse than prison! I mean, at least
in prison you can look forward to getting out. I want to live. I want
a job. I want to meet people. I want to meet _girls_. I want to make
love!
CAT: Well, Junior Angler is the best you're gonna get out of me, baby!
LISTER: (Leaving) Just get out of my face.
CAT: (Pointing at LISTER) Okay, okay, but don't come running to me next
time you want someone to play soapsud slalom down the cargo ramp. You
can carry your own damn flags!
2 Int. Photo lab.
(Meanwhile, KRYTEN is developing some photos in the lab. He is listening
to rock music -- heavy on the guitars. Suddenly he hears a strange noise
over the music. He listens, then taps a few buttons on his waistline.
The music cassette pops out of his inbuilt personal stereo. He starts
looking for the source of the noise. It appears to be coming from a
black and white photograph hanging on the drying line. As KRYTEN watches
in surprise, the scene in the photograph moves -- an old-fashioned car
speeds by. In the photograph next to it, KRYTEN is attending a party.
Voices in the photo are singing, "Happy Birthday, KRYTEN!")
(At this point KRYTEN hits him self on the back of the head and pops his
eyes out gives them a polish on his chest and puts them back in his
head.)
(The streamer-festooned KRYTEN in the picture ducks his head in
embarrassment and mumbles, "Oh, what a lovely surprise!" His future self
probably agrees.)
3 Int. Sleeping quarters.
(LISTER is sitting at the table, popping cellophane bubbles. He looks
thoroughly depressed. We hear singing, just a few seconds before RIMMER
enters, looking very happy.)
RIMMER: Lovely service, Lister! You should have come -- most uplifting!
RIMMER: (Seeing LISTER is very depressed) What's wrong with you? Ah,
it's November! Nearly time for your bath!
LISTER: Please just spare me the good mood? I just can't handle it right
now. OK?
RIMMER: What happened to you?
LISTER: I'm sick of it, that's what. I'm just totally, totally sick of
it.
RIMMER: Sick of what?
LISTER: I'm sick of you and your silly green suits, I'm sick of your
stupid flared nostrils. I'm sick of the way you always smile when
you're being insulted.
(Closup of RIMMER smiling, nostrils flared.)
LISTER: I'm sick of the Cat. I'm sick of Holly. I'm sick of you. I'm
sick of me. And as for Kryten ... I'm sick of him. I'm sick of this
ship, sick of this life. I'm just sick of it.
RIMMER: (Sitting down next to LISTER) You're unhappy, aren't you?
LISTER: Joining the Space Corps -- that's when it all went wrong. If I
didn't join up things could really have worked out for me.
RIMMER: (Gesturing to the plastic sheet that LISTER is attacking
vigorously) That's a tension sheet, isn't it? I went to school with
the guy who invented tension sheets. Things certainly worked out for
him all right. A millionaire at twenty-six! Fred Holden -- he was in
our dorm. God, he was thick. Thickie Holden, we used to call him:
(mimics) "Hello, Thickie! How's your acne, Thickie?" He always used to
come bottom in geography. He thought a glacier was a bloke who fixed
windows.
LISTER: He can't have been that dense? I mean, he invented the tension
sheet?
RIMMER: It's just the stuff they used to use in packing paper. All he
did was to paint it red and cut it into small squares. And you know
who he married -- Sabrina Mulholland-JJones.
LISTER: The model?
RIMMER: How can that be? The most desirable woman in the western
hemisphere and Thickie Holden, a spotty little gimp who used to blow
off the bed-covers every time we had cauliflower cheese!
LISTER: He had a break. He got lucky.
RIMMER: I suppose so. Did you go to school with anyone famous?
LISTER: Charles Keenan. He was pretty famous.
RIMMER: What did he do?
LISTER: Ate his wife.
(The screen comes on and KRYTEN's face appears.)
KRYTEN: Sorry to interrupt, sirs, but I think you should come down to the
photo-lab. Something quite strange is happening.
4 Int. Photo lab.
(LISTER, CAT, RIMMER, and KRYTEN are in the photo-lab, examining the
strangely animated photos. In two side-by-side frames, KRYTEN is opening
presents. In another party photo, several people are doing a conga.)
LISTER: These are just ordinary photographs. What did you do to them?
KRYTEN: I just developed the film as normal, and for some reason they
came to life.
HOLLY: It's the developing fluid. It must have mutated.
KRYTEN: At first I thought it was just my roll of film, but it seems to
work on any negative. There's some others here I've developed as
slides.
LISTER: Go for it.
KRYTEN: Lights!
(The lights dim and the slide projector starts. The projected scene is a
wedding photo. Church bells are ringing in the background.)
RIMMER: That's Frank! That's my brother's wedding!
(LISTER walks forward towards the screen. Suddenly he finds himself
amongst the wedding guests.)
LISTER: Yo, I'm in the photograph!
FRANK: Excuse me, could you stand aside, please? We're trying to take a
photograph.
LISTER: I'm actually _in_ the photograph!
FRANK: Excuse me, you're blocking the shot.
LISTER: I'm actually here! I'm at a smeggin' wedding!
FRANK: Listen, son, are you trying to make trouble?
LISTER: Wow, man! I'm back on Earth! I'm in a photograph!
FRANK: Look, will you just clear off?! (Grabs LISTER.)
LISTER: Look! He can touch me! He can touch me!
FRANK: Squire, hop it! (Punches LISTER in the stomach.)
LISTER: OOF! He can actually punch me! This is brilliant! Punch me
again! (FRANK obliges.) Fantastic! OOF! Alright, alright, I'm going!
(He turns, takes a step sideways and hits his head against the frame of
the photo.)
LISTER: I can't walk out of the edge of the photograph!
(He walks to the other edge of the photo and taps the frame a few times,
sighs and jumps out of the screen.)
LISTER: In-smeggin'-credible!
RIMMER: Try another one.
(KRYTEN puts on another slide. It shows two people in ski wear posing
for a photo on top of a mountain.)
CAT: What's this?
KRYTEN: It's one of Lister's.
LISTER: I don't recognise this.
RIMMER: Who are they?
LISTER: I don't know. Oh yeah, I remember. I sent away some snaps of me
eighteenth birthday and got someone's skiing holiday back instead.
(LISTER & RIMMER enter the slide.)
RIMMER: It's amazing. We're really here!
LISTER: I know. Check this!
(LISTER rolls a snowball and throws it at CAT, who is sitting in the
photo-lab. CAT catches it one-handed and throws it back, hitting LISTER
squarely on the face. LISTER and RIMMER leave the photo.)
KRYTEN: It even works in black and white. I tried it with a really old
one, too.
(He puts on another slide. Old photo -- somebody speaking from a balcony
to a large crowd.)
RIMMER: That's Nuremberg! That's Adolf Hitler. He was leader of the
runners-up in World War II.
KRYTEN: I cut the photograph out of one of your magazines.
RIMMER: Which magazine was that?
KRYTEN: Fascist Dictator Monthly. He was Mr. October.
(Suddenly they notice that LISTER is standing beside the little fascist
as he makes his speech.)
LISTER: Ignore him! He's a complete and total nutter! _And_ he's only
got one testicle!
(He gives Hitler the finger, just as the short dictator Zeich-Hiels.)
RIMMER: What's he doing now? He's _scuffling_ with Adolf Hitler! You
can't just stick one on the leader of the Third Reich!
(LISTER jumps back through the screen, carrying a brown bag.)
LISTER: I nicked his briefcase!
(They put it on the table and open it. LISTER pulls out a pair of
manacles attached to a pink bow, followed by a sandwich -- Hitler's
lunch. He peers inside.)
LISTER: Banana and crisps?
(He then pulls out a book.)
LISTER: His diary!
KRYTEN: Allow me. I'll switch to "translation mode." (He takes the
book.) "Things to remember: Stop milk, pay papers, invade
Czechoslovakia."
(Meanwhile, LISTER has pulled out a box wrapped in brown paper and tied
with string.)
LISTER: A present here. (Reading the label) "To Adolf, Love & hugs,
Staff Colonel Von Stauffenberg."
RIMMER: That rings a bell... Von Stauffenberg, he's famous for
something... (Thinks) Wait a minute, he's the officer who tried to
assassinate Hitler by putting a bomb in his briefcase!" How could I
forget that?
(They all look at one another, then at the package in LISTER's hands.
KRYTEN, CAT, RIMMER, and HOLLY dive for cover. LISTER shuffles
backwards, holding the bomb dead-level, then drop-kicks it back into the
photo and ducks. The bomb explodes well inside the frame, showering them
with bits of wood and glass.)
5 Int.
(Tight shot on a headline: "HITLER ESCAPES BOMBING AT NUREMBERG". The
photo is the one used for the slide -- with the addition of LISTER. the
camera pulls back to show that LISTER is reading the paper.)
LISTER: Yes! I don't believe this. We've got ourselves a smeggin' time
machine!
RIMMER: So we can go anywhere we want, absolutely anywhere?
KRYTEN: Providing we have a photograph of it.
RIMMER: So if one of us had, say, a photograph of a female-only naturist
beach in Acapulco full of bronzed, naked, uninhibited teenage
temptresses, we could go there for a holiday?
KRYTEN: I suppose.
RIMMER: Kryten, get my photo album.
LISTER: Hang on. The thing is, we can't move outside the confines of the
photograph. What we see is all we get.
CAT: Meaning?
LISTER: Meaning we can't get a picture of Earth and go back there, we
wouldn't be able to move outside the frame of the photograph.
RIMMER: Believe me, this beach shot in Acapulco, you wouldn't want to
move outside the photograph!
CAT: So it's useless, then?
RIMMER: No, not entirely useless. Think of the famous people we could
meet, the famous places we could go.
KRYTEN: We could go back to Dallas, in November 1963, stand on the grassy
knoll and shout "Duck!" (RIMMER and LISTER look at KRYTEN in amazement)
Oh, I'm sorry, I must have bypassed my "Good Taste" chip!
RIMMER: The possibilities are enormous! They're mind-numbing! We could
go back in time and avert major disasters!
LISTER: What, you mean like persuade Dustin Hoffman not to make Ishtar?
HOLLY: What about determinism, then? What about causality? You can't
just mess about with history!
LISTER: We'll just do something small.
HOLLY: There's no such thing as "small" when you're talking about
changing time!
LISTER: I'm only talking about changing things so that I don't get
marooned in space.
RIMMER: Such as?
LISTER: If I can go back and fix things so that I don't join the Space
Corps, don't sign up with Red Dwarf, I can create an alternate
existence, a NORMAL existence, back on Earth. I won't be stuck with
your ugly mush for the next 3 million years.
CAT: How can you do that?
LISTER: With this, (Holds up a tension sheet) and this. (Holds up a
slide.)
6 Int. Photo lab.
KRYTEN: It's ready.
(He puts on the slide. It shows a 2-bit Indie Rock band playing on the
stage of an English pub. The drummer has hair combed down over his face
and held in place by his glasses, the guitarist has tattoos and the lead
singer is wearing a Gary Glitter-style jacket with huge shoulder pads.
He is, after a fashion, singing.)
SINGER: Ommmmmm... Ommmmmm... Ommmmmm...
CAT: What is this? Who is that jerk?
LISTER: It's me.
CAT: You?
LISTER: Aged 17. That's me first band, Smeg and The Heads.
CAT: What are you wearing?
LISTER: It was all the rage. It's what everyone was wearing. It was
called "Sham Glam."
CAT: Look at that collar! You could go hang-gliding!
LISTER: We used to think we were so cool. Come on!
(They step into the past.)
7 Int. English Pub.
SINGER: Ommmmmm... Ommmmmm... Ommmmmm...
LISTER: One of the first songs I ever wrote. It was called "Om".
RIMMER: Nothing like a good old-fashioned love song, eh?
LISTER: And to think I genuinely thought we were gonna be massive. God,
I was stupid.
RIMMER: Who are the other two?
LISTER: The whacked-out, crazy, hippy drummer's called Dobbin. He joined
the police force in the end. Became a grand wizard in the Freemasons.
The bass is called Gazza. He was a neo-marxist, nihilistic, anarchist.
Eventually joined a large insurance company and got his own parking
space.
(The Om Song -- finally(!) -- finishes.)
YOUNG LISTER: Yeah! Rock and Roll! Thank you, thank you very much! And
for those of you who are interested, there are official "Smeg and The
Heads" T-shirts, and some signed polaroids of the band currently on
sale in the back of Dobbin's car. It's the orange Ford in the car
park, the one with bald tires and no windscreen. Well, we'll be back
in 20 minutes to play you our second set so from me, Smeg, and from
Dobbin and Gazza, The Heads, I'll see you later.
LISTER: I'll catch you guys later.
KRYTEN: (To RIMMER) What is this place?
RIMMER: It's a pub.
KRYTEN: A "pub?" Ah yes, a meeting place where people attempt to achieve
advanced states of mental incompetence by the repeated consumption of
fermented vegetable drinks.
(Just then LISTER returns with his younger self.)
LISTER: Guys, guys. I'd like you to meet me, aged 17.
YOUNG LISTER: Shay-dee! This is totally shady! It's beyond shady --
it's surreal! These your mates, then?
LISTER: Yeah. This is Cat, Kryten, and... Rimmer.
YOUNG LISTER: (To RIMMER, looking at his "H") Brilliant tattoo, man!
What's it stand for? Heavy Metal?
RIMMER: Yes, indeed.
YOUNG LISTER: (Spotting KRYTEN) Hey, what happened to him? His face --
it's grotesque, isn't it? Has he had an accident? He looks like he
spent three weeks with his head jammed in a lift! It's totally shady!
LISTER: Look, sit down and shut up!
YOUNG LISTER: (Sitting down) So how did you get here, what d'you want?
LISTER: I've come to try and change your future.
YOUNG LISTER: _Change_ it? Aren't you happy being a rock star? Is the
constant demand of them groupies getting you down?
LISTER: You don't make it as a rock star.
YOUNG LISTER: That's impossible! It cannot be!
LISTER: How can I say this without giving offense? You don't make it
'cos ... you're crap.
YOUNG LISTER: Oh, and how would you know, grandad? You're too old to
receive what we're trying to transmit!
LISTER: I'm _you_, you dork!
YOUNG LISTER: Too old and too crypto-fascist.
LISTER: Look, will you shut up and listen? I'm trying to make you rich.
All you've got to do is to go down to the patent office and register
this as your invention. (He holds up a tension sheet.) It's called a
"tension sheet."
RIMMER: Uh-uh, that's a immoral. That's Thickie Holden's invention.
LISTER: Uh-uh, was!
YOUNG LISTER: (Taking the sheet) This is just that stuff they use as
packing paper, painted red with "tension sheet" painted on it.
LISTER: I know.
YOUNG LISTER: It's a piece of crypto-fascist bourgeois crap!
LISTER: It'll make you a multi-multi-multi-millionaire.
YOUNG LISTER: But I'm not into dosh. I hate money, I loathe possessions
-- It's just so... crypto-fascist.
LISTER: Will you stop saying everything's crypto-fascist? You make me
sound like I was a complete git!
YOUNG LISTER: I'm not breaking up the band. Music is me life.
RIMMER: He's right. You can't make him give up his music! You heard the
Om Song -- it's a masterpiece!
YOUNG LISTER: You see?
LISTER: (To RIMMER) Back Off! (To YOUNG LISTER) I'm trying to give you a
break.
CAT: Oh, give up! The guy's an idiot!
LISTER: He's me!
CAT: Exactly!
YOUNG LISTER: I don't want a break. It's my future, I'll take me own
chances, thanks.
LISTER: If you take your own chances, you'll wind up stuck on a spaceship
with 'im, 'im, and 'im. For the rest of eternity. You won't _have_ a
future. You think about it. (Standing) C'mon.
(As the others leave, RIMMER pauses to talk to the YOUNG LISTER.)
RIMMER: You haven't got a copy of the Om Song I can take back with me,
have you?
YOUNG LISTER: Yeah, they're all in the car.
RIMMER: Oh, what a pity. I just can't get it out of my head. It's just
so catchy! "Om!" Keep writing those hits, kid. (He sings "Om!" a few
more times as he leaves.)
YOUNG LISTER: What a nice guy!
8 Int. Photo lab.
KRYTEN: What now?
HOLLY: Well, it'll take a few seconds for the timelines to sort
themselves out, and then we'll see if it's worked.
(LISTER starts disappearing.)
LISTER: It's happening! I'm disappearing!
(LISTER vanishes, followed by CAT and KRYTEN.)
RIMMER: What happened?
HOLLY: Well, Lister altered the timelines and lived an entirely different
life. Consequently he didn't join Red Dwarf. Consequently the Cat
Race never existed and we never rescued Kryten, so they disappeared
too.
RIMMER: So it's just you and me?
HOLLY: For the rest of eternity.
RIMMER: (Leaving the photo lab) No thanks. Find him, and bring him back.
9 Int. Later.
(Rimmer returns to the photo lab and consults HOLLY.)
RIMMER: Anything?
HOLLY: Got 'im.
RIMMER: And?
HOLLY: Tension sheet, Inventor of: Dave Lister, aged 17.
RIMMER: Damn!
HOLLY: And he died tragically in a plane crash, aged 98.
RIMMER: Ninety-eight?!
HOLLY: His own fault, apparently. He was making love to his fourteenth
wife and he lost control of the plane.
RIMMER: Have you got any photographs?
HOLLY: (Shocked) Not of that, no!
RIMMER: No, I mean so that I can go in and bring him back.
HOLLY: Well, there is one picture reference, but you're not going to like
it.
RIMMER: Put it on.
(Cheery, tacky music starts. A title appears on the monitor:)
(LIFESTYLES OF THE DISGUSTINGLY RICH AND FAMOUS)
ANNOUNCER: On the show that shows the stairway to the stars, heeeeeeres
Blaize!
(BLAIZE Falconberger appears on screen. She bears a startling
resemblance to Ruby Wax. In the background is a picture of an English
Mansion.)
BLAIZE: Hello, and welcome to Lifestyles of the Disgustingly Rich and
Famous. Tonight we'll be looking at the world's youngest billionaire,
Mr Dave "Tension Sheet" Lister. Behind me, Mr Lister's English
mansion. He had the whole building transported brick by brick from
half a mile down the road, just to get away from the neighbors. Now
that's the kind of cash that opens anybody's legs! (Snorts.) The
gravel in his drive came from Buckingham Palace. Dave bought Buck
Palace and had it ground down just to line his drive. This man has a
wad so thick you could use it to beat whales to death. He calls his
home "Xanadu", not in reference to the movie "Citizen Kane", but in
tribute to the hit single by Dave, Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich. But
Dave has musical aspirations of his own. Only last year his first
single, "Om", shot to number one when he personally purchased three
million copies. You'll never be short of an ashtray in his house.
Like many people who appear to have everything, Dave's life has been
tinged with tragedy. Well actually it hasn't, but we can only hope.
Now onto Dr Bob Porkmann, father of the condom that calls you back.
RIMMER: Freeze. I've seen enough.
HOLLY: What you gonna do?
RIMMER: I'm going in. I'm going in to rescue him.
HOLLY: Rescue him?
RIMMER: It's my duty. My duty as a complete and utter bastard!
10 Ext. LISTER's Mansion.
(His limo pulls up in the driveway. The staff come through the
passageway to the courtyard, ready to meet their master. First out of
the limo are a pair of bodyguards, eyes shifting, talking into walkie-
talkies. Then a flunky opens a car door and out steps LISTER. The head
butler glides forward to meet him.)
BUTLER: Mr Lister, sir. What an utter ... delight, it is to welcome you
home.
LISTER: Gilbert, my man. You're looking bad, baby!
GILBERT: Indeed, sir.
LISTER: (Giving GILBERT a high-five) You're my main, main, _main_, main
man!
(As LISTER strolls through to the courtyard, GILBERT rolls his eyes in
disgust.)
11 Ext. Interior Courtyard.
(In the courtyard is a 50 foot high statue of LISTER, in "toilet
position", holding it's penis, positioned so that it can pee into the
courtyard fountain.)
GILBERT: I am most awfully sorry about the statue, sir. The contractors
still haven't devised a way of making it urinate champagne into the
courtyard, although I am assured that it will be fully functional for
the royal visit this week.
LISTER: Oh, get outta town! This is gonna _slay_ 'em!
GILBERT: (Sighs) Indeed, sir. I am only just recovering from the
hilarity of the gag myself. It is almost swiftier in it's rapier-like
subtlety.
12 Int. Mansion's Dining Room.
(LISTER is sitting at one end of the 20-foot long dining table. His
fiance, Lady SABRINA Mulholland-JJones, is at the other.)
SABRINA: Well, I told daddy today. About us, I mean.
LISTER: And how did the old codger take it?
SABRINA: Not terribly well, actually. He perched himself on top of his
clay pigeon launching machine and shouted, "Pull!"
(The kitchen staff enter, carrying platters of food.)
GILBERT: For madam, Lobster a la Breche. For sir, a sausage and onion
gravy sandwich on white bread, with a glass of sterilised milk.
LISTER: Excellent. I used to live on these when I was in the band.
GILBERT: As requested, sir, it was helicoptered in this morning from
Luigi's Fish 'n' Chip Emporium. An artist beyond comparison, sir.
(Suddenly, RIMMER appears in the corner of the room.)
GILBERT: (Slightly rattled) Excuse me, sir, but a gentleman appears to
have appeared in the corner of the room.
RIMMER: Listy, it's me! It's me, Rimmer! Rimmsy; Arnie Rimmer! Arnie;
Old Iron Balls! Rimmer; Rimmer!
GILBERT: Apparently, the gentleman's name is Rimmer, sir.
LISTER: Have we met?
RIMMER: Have we met? We're like brothers. We were shipmates. Red
Dwarf.
(LISTER looks back blankly.)
RIMMER: You don't remember, do you?
LISTER: Remember what?
RIMMER: Of course you don't remember, it hasn't happened, has it?
SABRINA: What hasn't happened?
RIMMER: (Noticing her for the first time) Sabrina Mulholland-JJones?
SABRINA: Yes?
RIMMER: _The_ Sabrina Mulholland-JJones? Model, best-selling novelist
and international jet-setter?
LISTER: Yeah. She's me bird.
RIMMER: "She's me bird?" You talk about the Duke of Lincoln's eldest
daughter as "Me bird?!"
LISTER: Gilbert, will you escort Mr. Rummer to the door?
RIMMER: But, I came here to save you!
LISTER: Throw him out, Gilbert. He's a nutter.
GILBERT: If you would care to step this way, sir?
RIMMER: But we were friends! We were buddies!
GILBERT: Let's not have a scene, sir.
RIMMER: You call this happiness? Surrounded by toadying lackeys and paid
sycophants? Living with a love-goddess sex-bomb model megastar? You
call this contentment? You know, I stand here now and I look at the
two of us, and I ask one simple question: Who is the rich man? You,
with your fifty-eight houses, your private island in the Bahamas, your
multi-billion pound business empire; or me, with... with... with what,
I've got. (Pause) It's you isn't it? Yes it's all very clear to me
now. You -- richer and happier.
GILBERT: This way, sir.
RIMMER: I should have thought a bit harder about that speech, really. I
cocked it up a bit, didn't I?
(He steps back a pace and vanishes.)
13 Int. Photo lab.
(RIMMER returns to Red Dwarf.)
HOLLY: Any luck?
RIMMER: Useless. Didn't listen. Didn't even recognise me. Just thought
I was some neurotic deranged crazy madman.
HOLLY: You sure he didn't recognise you?!
RIMMER: Wait a tension-popping minute! If Lister can do it, why can't I?
These photographs -- there's one here somewhere of me at boarding
school, aged eight. I can invent the tension sheet before him. I can
get there first!
HOLLY: But then you'll disappear and become incredibly wealthy, and
Lister will be sent hurtling back through time.
RIMMER: Yes, and the Cat and Kryten will be brought back into existence.
True, as a by-product I will become mega-rich and be forced to have
constant sex with that JJones woman, but that's a sacrifice I'm
prepared to make.
14 Int. Photo lab. Later.
(The slide is on. It shows a darkened public school dormitory. RIMMER
pauses in front of the screen.)
RIMMER: Holly, torch.
(The torch appears in his hand and he steps into the photo.)
15 Int. Dormitory.
(As he walks along the row of beds, he shines his torch on nameplates.
He pauses by the foot of Fred Holden's bed. The name has been crossed
out and replaced in a schoolboy scrawl with "Thickie". In the bed beside
that one is a boy wearing boxing gloves and cuddling a teddy. The
nickname on his nameplate is "Bonehead." The crossed-out name is "Arnold
Rimmer." RIMMER squats down beside his younger self.)
RIMMER: Pssst. Wake up!
YOUNG RIMMER: What is it? Who are you?
RIMMER: Look, don't be afraid. I'm going to make you rich.
(In the bed behind him, Thickie HOLDEN stirs. At the word "rich" he sits
up and pays attention.)
RIMMER: All you've got to do is listen very, very carefully.
(YOUNG RIMMER nods dutifully.)
RIMMER: Right, this is the plan. You're going to invent a thing called
"The Tension Sheet."
HOLDEN: Pension Sheet?
RIMMER: T! T! T! Tension, TENsion sheet! Will you shut up? I'm
trying to talk to the kid! (Turns back to Young RIMMER.) Are you
listening? They're little sheets of paper with lots of air bubbles in
them.
HOLDEN: Like you get in packing paper?
RIMMER: Look, do you mind, Holden? This is a private conversation. Go
back to sleep! (Turns back to his younger self.) They're exactly the
same as the ones you get in (Glares at HOLDEN) packing paper, but you
paint them red.
HOLDEN: Why red?
RIMMER: Because it helps people relax! Will you shut up, I'm trying to
make the kid rich! (He notices that YOUNG RIMMER is having great
difficulty writing.) You'd write better if you took off your boxing
gloves. Now, have you got all that?
YOUNG RIMMER: (Taking off his boxing gloves) I fink so.
RIMMER: First thing tomorrow, take the idea down to the patent office.
YOUNG RIMMER: I can't. Not first fing in the morning. I've got extra
rugby practice because I'm so wet.
RIMMER: (Softly) Damn! (Aloud) Allright, then -- lunchtime. Take it at
lunchtime, okay? I've got to go now. (Standing up) Don't mess this
up!
YOUNG RIMMER: No, sir.
(RIMMER gives a full-RIMMER salute as he leaves.)
16 Int. Photo lab.
(RIMMER emerges from the picture, elated.)
RIMMER: Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes! (Singing) If I were a rich man, dubba
dubba dubba dubba dubba dum...
HOLLY: Worked then, did it?
RIMMER: Holly, though it pains me dearly, I'll be having to say, "Ta-ta."
Ta-Ta, to your stupid gormless face. Ta-ta, to poverty. Ta-ta,
failure. Hello, Sabrina. Hello, sexual ecstasy.
(LISTER, KRYTEN, and CAT start to form.)
RIMMER: Aha. Here they come, bang on time. Well, gentlemen, just enough
time for me to say, "Toodly pipsky." I'll be disappearing any moment
now.
LISTER: What happened?
RIMMER: Here it comes... any moment.
LISTER: What's he talking about?
RIMMER: Any moment. Any moment... now.
(The others leave, shaking their heads.)
HOLLY: It hasn't worked. According to our data bank, you didn't invent
the tension sheet. It was invented by a gentleman named "Thickie
Holden."
RIMMER: What?
HOLLY: All you've gone and done is put things back exactly as they were.
RIMMER: (Sitting down heavily) Why does nothing ever go right for me?
(The violins start.) Every time i get so much as a snifter of a break,
a glimpse of a shadow of happiness, something inexplicably cruel and
horrible happens and it all blows up in my face.
HOLLY: Hang on a mo', something is different. Don't ask me why, but
somehow you're no longer a hologram. You're alive!
RIMMER: What?
(He feels his forehead. No H. He feels the walls, the table, the
monitor screen.)
RIMMER: I'm alive! I'm alive!
(He runs over to the bench and takes a huge bite out of Hitler's
sandwich.)
RIMMER: Mmmm. (Yelling) Kryten, unpack Rachel and get out the puncture
repair kit! I'm alive!
(He runs out into the corridor, touching the walls and the stacks of
crates for the sheer joy of being able to touch again.)
RIMMER: I'm alive! I can touch, I can feel, I can fondle -- I'm alive!
Don't you think it's incredible?
(RIMMER decides to punctuate his sentence by bringing his fists down hard
on two innocuous-looking crates that just happen to be labelled,
"Explosives.")
RIMMER: I AM ALIVE!!!!
(The boxes explode and send bits and pieces of Arnold J. RIMMER all over
the cargo decks. LISTER, CAT, and KRYTEN -- with pieces of RIMMER's
uniform scattered on their heads after the explosion -- turn around to
see what has happened.)
CAT: What was he saying?
The End
Season 3 Episode 4 - Body Swap
RED DWARF Series III Episode 4, "Body Swap"
1 Int. Somewhere in Red Dwarf.
Shot of Scutter with wires in its "mouth" behaving erratically.
2 Int. Lab.
KRYTEN and RIMMER are hunched over a computer terminal displaying a
horrendously complex circuit diagram. RIMMER is giving instructions to
KRYTEN.
RIMMER: Turn. There's another. Circuit board epsilon 14598, red
corridor 357.
KRYTEN: Re-routed.
RIMMER: Turn. And another. Circuit board theta 29555, rlue corridor
212.
LISTER enters shuffling a deck of cards.
LISTER: What's happening guys? It's half ten. I thought we were playing
poker?
RIMMER: Where have you been? Didn't you get the message?
LISTER: What message?
RIMMER: One of the skutters has gone bananas. He's completely rewired
the maintenance decks back to front and upside down. We've got over
two thousand wiring faults. Don't breath. Don't touch anything.
(Looking at LISTER) The whole ship is a gigantic booby trap.
LISTER: No poker then? (Looks very crestfallen.)
RIMMER looks at LISTER as if to say, "You don't understand the gravity of
this situation."
RIMMER: We can't find the auto destruct system. It's wired up to
something but we don't know what. Tell the CAT.
LISTER: (Walking away) It's taken me ages to mark these cards.
3 Int. Corridor.
LISTER is leading CAT along a red-lit corridor.
CAT: So we can't touch anything?
LISTER: Nothing electrical. Not until we get the all clear.
CAT: How longs that going to take?
LISTER: God knows.
LISTER approaches the vending machine, lowers to so he can depress an
order.
LISTER: Milk shake and a crispy bar. (Turning back to CAT) We were just
playing poker tonight. That's gone for a burn.
AUTO DESTRUCT: Auto destruct sequence initiated. Initiated destruction
in 15 minutes. 14 minutes, 55 seconds and counting.
CAT and LISTER look at each other stunned as warning noises sound.
CAT: (Keeping his cool) That's a very dumb thing you just did then.
LISTER: I Know. I wasn't thinking.
AUTO DESTRUCT: Red Dwarf will self destruct in 14 minutes and 50 seconds.
CAT puts on his scared face and leaves. LISTER turns back to the vending
machine.
LISTER: Cancel. Clear.
AUTO DESTRUCT: Abandon ship. You have 13 minutes and 45 seconds to
detonation.
LISTER: (Hitting buttons with his fist) Cancel!
AUTO DESTRUCT: You have 12 minutes and 45 seconds to--
LISTER: (Kicking machine) Cancel!
AUTO DESTRUCT: You have 10 minutes and 45 seconds--
LISTER: (Shaking the machine violently) Cancel!
AUTO DESTRUCT: You have 9 minutes and 45 seconds--
4 Int. Control Room.
First a shot of CAT and then RIMMER strides into the shot, looking _very_
cross.
RIMMER: I said, "Touch nothing." Didn't I say, "Touch nothing?"
LISTER: Look, I just ordered a shake and a crispy bar. (Very pleading
quality here as one would when one has just initiated the end of an
entire space ship.)
CAT: You're lucky you didn't order a double cheese burger!
AUTO DESTRUCT: Eight minutes, 20 seconds and counting.
LISTER: How do we switch it off?
HOLLY: The only person who can override the autodestruct is the captain.
RIMMER: Dead.
HOLLY: Or one of the senior officers.
RIMMER: Dead.
HOLLY: In many ways I should have updated the system really.
LISTER: Is there any that we can trick the machine into thinking one of
us is the captain?
HOLLY: No. It checks his voice and brain scan against its databanks.
AUTO DESTRUCT: Auto destruct in 8 minutes, 10 seconds and counting.
RIMMER: Think of something please. You are supposed to have an IQ of
6000. Think of something.
HOLLY: I'm thinking.
AUTO DESTRUCT: Self destruct in 8 minutes and counting.
RIMMER: Well??
HOLLY: I bin' through the whole of my database, collated every single
option, and there are three realistic alternatives. One: sit 'ere and
get blown up. Two: Stand 'ere and get blown up. Three: Jump up and
down, shout at me for not being able to think of anything, then get
blown up.
LISTER: There must be something?
KRYTEN: Perhaps we could try a mind swap?
5 Int. Lab.
Shot an arm strapped to a chair, pan out to LISTER tied down to a chair
looking anything but happy to be there.
KRYTEN: It's something we tried once on the Nova 5. It uses exactly the
same science as generating a hologram. We wipe all your brain patterns
and put them on a storage disk. Then we transfer the captains mind
from his hologram personality disk into your empty brain.
LISTER: And you tried this on the Nova 5?
KRYTEN: Oh Yes.
LISTER: Did it work?
KRYTEN: No. But I'm pretty sure I know what went wrong.
AUTO DESTRUCT: 4 minutes to self destruct and counting.
LISTER: So the captain's mind will be in my body?
KRYTEN: Yes. Then, hopefully, the self destruct will think you're are
the captain, and you can activate the override.
LISTER: But where will my mind be?
KRYTEN: (Holding up a very small cassette tape) On this.
AUTO DESTRUCT: 3 minutes, 50 seconds and counting.
RIMMER and CAT enter the room.
RIMMER: We couldn't find the captains disk, but what about Brown? Brown
was executive officer.
HOLLY: Yeah. Brown's got clearance.
LISTER: (upon seeing a large needle that KRYTEN just removed the air
from) Kryten, what's that for?
KRYTEN: It's a mental emetic.
LISTER: A what?
KRYTEN: A mind enema -- so we can flush out your brain.
LISTER: Nobody's flush'n out my brain.
KRYTEN: We'll transfer it back afterwards.
LISTER: You are not sticking that think in my head.
The CAT is drinking a cup of coffee in the background.
AUTO DESTRUCT: one minute and 40 seconds and counting.
RIMMER: We've got to. It's our only chance.
LISTER: Smeg Off!
CAT: Look man, I'm not asking you to do this just for me. I'm askin',
well pleading with you I'm beggin' ya -- do it for the sake of my
suits. Are you just gonna stand by and let my scarlet PVC morning suit
with the imitation king penguin fur collars get blown to smithereens.
(LISTER nods.) Could you live with yourself? (LISTER nods again.)
AUTO DESTRUCT: I minute, 30 seconds and counting.
RIMMER: Look, Lister. I agree, it's a stupid idea. It almost certainly
wont work. But the very worst that can happen -- the absolute bottom
line -- is that you'll have to spend the rest of your life as a
mindless gibbering vegetable. But if the rest of your life is going to
be thirty seconds, what the hell!
LISTER: Do it.
KRYTEN swaps his right temple with a cotton ball and then inserts the
needle. As it sucks out LISTER's mind his face takes on a more vacant
expression until he is completely cross eyed and his tongue sits rather
stupidly almost out of his mouth. KRYTEN presses some keys on a
keyboard, storing LISTER's mind onto a storage medium.
KRYTEN: Keep that safe -- it's Lister's mind.
He hands the small cassette to CAT. As they are all looking at it CAT
drops it into a mug of coffee. RIMMER recoils very quickly. CAT,
looking most apologetic, but not quite managing to hide an evil smirk,
removes the cassette from his coffee and slinks off. KRYTEN begins to
place BROWN's mind into LISTER. Once complete "LISTER" looks very
surprised.
AUTO DESTRUCT: 55 seconds to detonation
BROWN: What's happening? What the hell is going on?
RIMMER: (standing to attention) Ah, sir. There is no time to explain,
but, by a bizarre series of accidents the ship auto destruct system has
got switched on and we need you to deactivate it.
BROWN: Something's wrong. Something feels different. Wait a minute, I
never use to be a man!
RIMMER: Look, you stupid women, we'll explain later.
BROWN: Why have I got male sexual organs!
RIMMER: If we don't override the autodestruct system within the next 20
seconds those male sexual organs will be in orbit around the nearest
planet. Along with every one else's organs sexual or otherwise.
AUTO DESTRUCT: 15 seconds to detonation.
BROWN: Abort sequence X1X.
AUTO DESTRUCT: Identify.
BROWN: Carol Brown, executive officer, security clearance 010101.
AUTO DESTRUCT: Pause for verification. (Pause) Verification rejected.
Abort denied. Auto destruct sequence continued. Detonation in 5
seconds.
Shot of KRYTEN looking pretty upset. RIMMER and CAT are speaking to
KRYTEN.
RIMMER: Sen-smegging-sational
AUTO DESTRUCT: 4.
CAT: Well done, sphinx face.
AUTO DESTRUCT: 3.
RIMMER: What a brilliant, brilliant plan.
AUTO DESTRUCT: 2.
CAT: Just great.
BROWN is struggling in the seat.
AUTO DESTRUCT: 1. Initiate self destruct.
A dramatic pause as they brace for death.
Shot of dispensing machine as it shoots out a milk shake and a crispy
bar.
AUTO DESTRUCT: Thank you for using the auto serve dispensing machines.
Number one in quality. Number one in taste.
CAT: What happened?
KRYTEN: It must have been wired up to the warning system but not the
bomb.
RIMMER: So where's the bomb?
HOLLY: We haven't got a bomb.
RIMMER: What!
HOLLY: I got rid of it ages ago.
CAT: Why didn't you say?
HOLLY: You never asked.
CAT: Fine, terrific. (To KRYTEN) But remember this: you're getting my
underwear bill, buddy.
6 Ext. Red Dwarf. Establishing.
7 Int. Sleeping quarters.
RIMMER and LISTER are lying on their beds.
RIMMER: You awake?
LISTER: Yeah -- can't sleep.
RIMMER: Probably those kippers you had for supper.
LISTER: Nothin' wrong with kippers for supper.
RIMMER: But kippers vindaloo? Can't be good for you. I mean, a curry
every night? That cannot be good for you. Certainly no good for me.
I'm thinking of getting a canary in a cage.
LISTER: Why?
RIMMER: To check out the room, see if it is safe to use.
LISTER: C'mon, it's not that bad!
RIMMER: Not that bad? You don't sweat sweat, you sweat madras sauce.
LISTER: Why all the sudden interest in my diet?
RIMMER: It's not just your diet, Lister. It's your health in general.
Face facts: you eat crap, you don't exercise, you smoke, you drink,
and frankly, it's beginning to show.
LISTER: I'm OK.
RIMMER: You're getting porky.
LISTER: Porky!
RIMMER: Last week when there was that lights failure in the engine room,
your silhouette was caste onto the wall. I got the fright of my life.
I thought it was Alfred Hitchcock.
LISTER: Are you sayin' I've got a gut?
RIMMER: You have got more gut that a Turkish butchers shop window.
LISTER: (sounding worried) Hang on, no really. Do you think I've put on
weight?
RIMMER: You've reached that age, Listy. When you're younger you can eat
what you like, drink what you like and still climb into your 26 inch
waist trousers and zip them closed. Then you reach that age -- 24, 25
-- your muscles give up they wave a little white flag and then without
any warning at all, you're suddenly a fat bastard.
LISTER: I'm not fat -- I'm porky!
RIMMER: Have you ever in dissection class held up a frog by its head?
(Demonstrating to Lister with hand movements.) You know the way its
belly sort of sticks out above its spindly little legs? Well, that's
the picture I see when you get down from the bunk in the morning.
(Lies back down.)
LISTER: Yeah, maybe you're right. (Examining his belly from his reclined
position) Yeah, I'm gonna start working out in the gym.
Thinking the conversation is over, he returns to his comic.
RIMMER: Of course, you could always ... no you'd never a agree to it.
LISTER: (Leaning down to RIMMER's bunk) What?
RIMMER: We could do a swap: my mind in your body, yours in mine.
(LISTER lies back down shaking his head and smiling thinking what a
ludicrous idea this is.) You saw how easy it was with Brown. Lend me
your body for a few weeks and I'll get it fit for you. Plenty of
exercise, sensible diet, no more booze, no more ciggies. It'll be like
a 12 thousand mile service for your body.
LISTER: What, and in the meantime I'm a hologram?
RIMMER: It won't be too bad if it's only for a couple of weeks.
LISTER: You're talking as if it were a pare of hedge trimmers or a lawn
mower or somethin'.
RIMMER: I'd give it you back, I'd return it intact. More than intact,
it'd be fitter.
LISTER: Look, Rimmer, you are not having possession of _my_ body.
RIMMER: What are you worried about? How can a treat it any worse than
you do? You admit you don't look after it, don't exercise it, don't
feed it properly. I would. What do you say?
8 Ext. Red Dwarf.
We hear sounds of mind-swapping type activity.
9 Int. Lab corridor.
LISTER and RIMMER emerging from the Lab.
LISTER: (Lister's voice, but sounding very odd as it emerges from
RIMMER's larynx) No welchin'.
RIMMER: Of course not.
LISTER: A fortnight.
RIMMER: 14 days.
LISTER: (Holding up two of RIMMER's fingers) Two weeks.
RIMMER: Absolutely doodley. (He opens LISTER's jacket and indicates with
hand gestures that it doesn't smell very nice.)
10 Int. Shower room.
RIMMER, in LISTER's body, is standing at what turns out to be a urinal,
and is putting some very thick red plastic gloves on, he removes the hat
with distain, and dons a pare of eye covers. He is humming The Grand Old
Duke of York to himself. Removing a pare of tongs from his back pocket
he then unzips his fly and using the tongs proceeds in alleviating
himself. Suddenly he stops, removes his eye covers and looks down. He
looks up with a face that looks very shocked at what it has just seen.
11 Int. Corridor.
LISTER in RIMMER's body passes a mirror and catches a glimse of himself.
LISTER: This hat is smeggin' stupid. I look like Captain Emerald.
Holly, do somethin' about it, mate.
HOLLY: OK, Dave.
Now RIMMER's body is decked in the black leather gear we normally
associate with LISTER.
LISTER: Brutal!
12 Int. Shower room.
Cut back to a silhouette of RIMMER showering LISTER's body.
RIMMER: What's this under his nails? Oh my god!
He places a bottle of AJAX scouring detergent on a recess in the wall and
grabs a bottle of what appears to be Domestos.
RIMMER: I'm going to have this dirt carbon-dated.
13 Int. Sleeping quarters.
KRYTEN is pouring some red wine into a glass that is sitting in what
appears to be a very large and sumptuous feast. Dressed in a bath robe,
RIMMER enters the room "hmmmming" to himself.
KRYTEN: Luncheon, sir.
Grabbing LISTER's locks RIMMER removes most of them with an electric
carving knife.
RIMMER: Ahhh! Food. Real food. To eat, perchance to taste.
KRYTEN: It's exactly as you ordered, sir: the lightly poached mimmion
bladder fish, the 4 dozen oysters, the ducks feet in abalone sauce...
RIMMER: I can touch; I can taste; I can smell! (Getting very excited and
grabbing some food.)
KRYTEN: Roast suckling pig stuffed with chestnuts and truffles.
RIMMER: mmmmmmm.
KRYTEN: (Placing a _very_ large silver platter of mashed potato in front
of RIMMER) Mashed potato.
RIMMER: With cream and butter?
KRYTEN: A pint of cream and a full pound of butter, sir.
RIMMER: Let the orgy commence.
He starts stuffing food and drink into ha mouth and then slumps his head
forward into the potato. He then pours gravy over his head. LISTER
enters and looks stunned with this turn of events.
LISTER: Hows the diet goin'?
RIMMER does a thumbs up sign with his head still buried in the potato.
14 Int. Sleeping quarters. Night.
RIMMER is still in a bath robe and is smoking a cigar.
RIMMER: Do you know something I think I went temporarily insane. It was
just too much. I haven't tasted food in 3 million and 2 years. All
that food. I was like an animal.
LISTER: I want my body back. Now!
LISTER is lying in his right side supporting his head with his bent arm
and in contrast to RIMMER, does not look relaxed.
RIMMER: Oh Look it won't happen again. It was just something I had to
get out of my system.
LISTER: _My_ system. Why ya smokin'?
RIMMER: One cigar!
LISTER: You are supposed to be getting me fit.
RIMMER: I'll start tomorrow.
LISTER: You better bleedin' had do.
15 Int. Corridor. Day.
We see LISTER dressed in RIMMER's green suit and hat carrying a brief
case. CAT walks past him and then does a double take.
CAT: Hey! what are you doin' dressed like that? Why do you want to look
like Goalpost Head? Have you flipped? You want to model yourself on a
man who has ears so large that they can pick up satellite TV? Why do
you want to look like the smeg-head Rimmer for?!
RIMMER: Because... (poking CAT in the eye) ...I am that smeg head Rimmer.
With a smug look on his face RIMMER departs.
16 Int. Large spa bath.
RIMMER sits reading a MUSCLE magazine.
RIMMER: Please. These are meant to be women? (Turning over magazine and
we get to see the picture that has just engrossed RIMMER) Ahhh. This
is what I call training.
17 Int. Sleeping quarters.
CAT has his back to us and his hair is untied. They are playing
scrabble.
LISTER: (Pointing to letters in his rack) That letter, that letter, and
that letter. (Pointing to the middle of the board) There.
We see that he is having the first go and we see his rack which has the
letters D-A-T-E left on it.
CAT: Hey! I've got you now! (Holding out his letters up for LISTER to
see.) Jozxyqk.
LISTER: That's not a word.
CAT: It's a cat word.
LISTER attempts to pronounces the cat "word."
CAT: That's not how you pronounce it!
LISTER: What's it mean?
CAT: It's the sound you get when you get your sexual organs trapped in
something
CAT demonstrates with his hands a book shutting and pronounces the word
again.
LISTER: Is it in the dictionary?
CAT: Well, it could be. If you were reading in the nude and you closed
the book too quickly.
CAT mines this action and says the word again.
RIMMER: (Striding into the room looking like he has been working out and
feels great) Ahhhh! What a session! What a work out! No pain, no
gain, Listy.
LISTER: (Jumping up) On the scales! I want to weigh you.
RIMMER: There's no need. Look at that stomach. (Rubbing LISTER's
stomach.) Flat as a pancake. Hasn't been like that in years!
LISTER: Scales, please.
RIMMER: There's really no need.
LISTER: (Firmly) On the scales.
RIMMER steps on the scales
LISTER: You've put on two stone!
RIMMER: Of course I've put on two stone. I've been taking yeast extract,
building up your body.
LISTER: Take the robe off.
RIMMER: What for?
LISTER: Take it off.
RIMMER: I don't want you looking at my naked body.
LISTER: It's not _your_ naked body, it's mine!
CAT: What's he hidin'?
LISTER: Off with the robe.
RIMMER: Let me just say this--
LISTER: Off!
RIMMER: (Removes the bathrobe to reveal a pretty pink girdle) Ohhhh this.
This is a hernia prevention belt. I must have forgotten to take it
off.
LISTER: It's a girdle.
RIMMER: Course it isn't.
LISTER: Then why has it got little dangly things for holding up
stockings?
RIMMER: There for attaching extra weights to you so you can get fit just
as you walk around. (He fumbles, demonstrating the attachment of
weights and walking with them attached.) Oh! Errrr ow!
LISTER: I want me body back now.
RIMMER: Look, OK. I went a bit bananas the first few days, but I promise
you that's all over now. Don't you see? It's in my interest to get
you into shape. This could become a regular thing: fourteen days a
year I could have your body. In fact next year, if it's convenient, I
would like to book the last two weeks of July.
LISTER: I want it back.
RIMMER: One last chance?
LISTER: No more troffin'.
RIMMER: I promise.
LISTER: And take that girdle off. It doesn't suit me. (He saunters off
happily.)
18 Int. Sleeping quarters. Night.
We hear pigging-out noises.
LISTER: Holly, lights.
LISTER jumps off bed and finds RIMMER sitting up in bed with a blanket
over his head.
LISTER: Right, that's it! I'm completely sick of it.
RIMMER: MM-mph? Mph mmph mph?
LISTER: That is it!
RIMMER: (Removing the blanket and wiping his hands) What is it? (He has
food all over his chin and mouth.)
LISTER: You've been porkin' again, haven't ya?
RIMMER: I have not!
LISTER: I want my body back, now.
RIMMER: But I've only had it a week!
LISTER: This was not the deal. You've welched on it. (He walks away and
glances into the rubbish bin.) And what's this in the bin? Me locks!
My locks are in the bin. I thought you said you pinned 'em up?
RIMMER: I did but they ... fell off.
LISTER: Fell off? Science lab, now!
RIMMER: But it's the middle of the night. Kryten is on down time.
LISTER: Now!
19 Int. Sleeping Quarters. Later.
The guys enter their room as themselves again.
LISTER: (Rubbing his chest) How many cigars did you get through, Rimmer?
Me lungs feel as if they have been through a cheese grater.
RIMMER: You've got your body back. Leave me alone.
LISTER: (Coughing) I only have a couple of rolly's a day. It feels as if
you've smoked an entire Cuban tobacco harvest.
RIMMER: I had the odd one.
LISTER: You've no respect, that's what. You've shown my body no respect
whatsoever. You've treated it like smeg. Look you've given me
breasts. There's a distinct cleavage there. I give you my body and
you've given me a bosom.
LISTER he walks over to the scales and RIMMER looks to be the unhappy one
now.
LISTER: These scales are wrong. These scales have to be wrong.
RIMMER: It's average for your height.
LISTER: Rimmer, it would be average for my height if I happened to be a
pregnant hippo.
RIMMER: Well you weren't exactly Charles Atlas to start with, were you?
LISTER: And you haven't been treating my athletes foot, have you?
RIMMER: Well, quite frankly I was afraid of touching it.
LISTER: I told you, you have to wash and powder my feet three times a
day. Plus a good buffing with a pumice stone.
RIMMER: I wasn't prepared to touch those _things_ three time a day. To
tell you the truth I was only brave enough to take your socks off once.
LISTER: Look at my stomach. Look at it! Pink gudgeon' stripes down me
sides and you could float me over the super bowl.
RIMMER: Look I refuse to take the rap for that body. All right I added a
few pounds to its already ample frame but it was, lets face it, a wreck
before I got any where near it.
LISTER: A wreck?
RIMMER: If it was a car you would be an insurance write off. Nothing
works. Your taste buds are totally clapped out you've killed them
stone dead with 25 years of non stop curries. and what about all the
aches and pains you never mention twinges in your back crimps in your
neck mention? Oh, and I'll give you a little tip: urine should only
be green if you're mister spock.
LISTER: That's the last time you borrow it that's for goddam sure.
(Getting up and leaving the table.)
RIMMER: What about next year? We had and agreement -- the last two weeks
in July and the weekend before Christmas.
LISTER: What for, Rimmer? It's a wreck.
RIMMER: Unfortunately it's the best that's available. You can't get two
weeks in the carribean then grimsby is better than nothing. You can't
back out now, you said I could have it.
LISTER: I only said that to get it back. Do you think I am raving mad?
You are never, ever, _ever_ borrowing my body again. Never.
RIMMER: Get some sleep. You'll feel different in the morning.
20 Int. Corridor.
KRYTEN is pushing a trolley with an unconsious LISTER on it.
KRYTEN: I am really not sure about this.
RIMMER: Look, you're programmed to obey -- get on with it.
KRYTEN: But surely we should ask him first?
RIMMER: I told you, he's agreed. He's perfectly happy about the
situation.
KRYTEN: Well then, why did you make me chloroform him and why did he
struggle so?
RIMMER: Look, I'm in charge Kryten. I'll take full responsibility.
KRYTEN: Oh! But sir--
RIMMER: Science lab, pronto!
KRYTEN: Oh!
RIMMER: If he comes around give him another whack.
21 Int. Sleeping quarters. Morning.
It looks like RIMMER is waking up in bed, but we soon see that he is
again dressed in LISTER's clothes.
LISTER: Are you awake man? Rimmer? (Jumps off bed and notices his
arms.) No please. No! (Noticing the message that has been left) Play
message.
It is RIMMER, dressed in LISTER's body once again.
RIMMER: Hi! It's me. I told you you'd feel different in the morning.
Thing is, this week has been absolute heaven for me and I couldn't just
stand by and let you take your body back. That's why I've taken
Starbug and done a runner. Don't worry, in a month or so I'll come
back and return it. Just a month, maybe six weeks but don't try and
follow me, otherwise... (Placing a gun against his right temple) the
body gets it.
LISTER: Cat. Cat! (He runs out of the room.)
22 Int. Some other part of the ship.
CAT: You want my _what_?
LISTER: It'll only take a couple of hours.
CAT: You want to take _my_ body?
LISTER: I need your body to get _my_ body back.
CAT: You've already lost one body. Come on, in all seriousness, you
really expect me to lend you mine?
LISTER: I'm a hologram. How else am I suppose to chase him? I need your
body.
CAT: Let me ask you one question. Would you let a garbage truck driver
use your Rolls Royce?
LISTER: How else can I pilot White Midget?
CAT: I'll do it!
23 Ext. Model Shot.
We see White Midget leave Red dwarf.
24 Ext. Model Shot.
Cut to Starbug as it "wheels" through space to the sound of the ???
symphony.
25 Int. Starbug cockpit.
RIMMER is trumpeting along with hand movements, the gun is in the right
hand. He opens a trunk load filled donuts. As the music ends he places
one in his mouth. LISTER appears on the monitor behind him.
LISTER: Rimmer. Rimmer! It's no use runnin', man, we've got you in
visual range. Turn around and head back to the ship.
RIMMER: I told you not to follow me. (Pointing the gun at LISTER's
image. He goes over to his console and allows them to see him.) Leave
me alone or you-know-what happens. (Placing gun at his right temple
again.)
CAT: He's bluffin'.
RIMMER: I'm not bluffing.
LISTER: I think he means it man. He's flipped -- it must be cream cake
poisonin'.
CAT: He's bluffin. I'm goin' in after him.
KRYTEN: He must be bluffing.
LISTER: Say he isn't, man?
CAT: It's gastronomic terrorism! We can't stand by and let it happen.
RIMMER: Go ahead punks. Make my day.
LISTER: You're right. He's bluffin'.
RIMMER: Smeg!
CAT: Lets get him. (Puts his feet to the floor and the ship really start
to move.)
RIMMER goes back to the controls. He drives badly and hits some rocks.
LISTER: This is getting stupid. Back off -- let him go.
CAT: We're almost on him.
LISTER: It's too dangerous. Let him go.
The white midget backs off and RIMMER turns around to gloat, oblivious to
the nasty-looking outcrop of rocks looming up ahead.
RIMMER: Ha! Ha! Ha! Chickens. Ha ... (He turns back to look where he
is going.)
26 Ext. Model shot.
We see Starbug hit the rocky outcrop and the slam into the ground on the
other side. We return to White Midget and view LISTER's totally shocked
face.
LISTER: Oh smeg! What the smeggin' smeg's he smeggin' done? He's
smeggin' killed me!
27 Int. Starbug rear section.
Hanging live wires are everywhere in the crashed interior. LISTER, CAT
and KRYTEN enter. The sliding door between the cockpit and galley area
opens.
RIMMER: (Peering around the corner) Whoops!
LISTER: Are you all right?
RIMMER: You're going to go spare.
LISTER: What? What is it?
RIMMER: You're going to go absolutely spare.
RIMMER's steps out into the doorway his top is torn bellow the shoulder.
LISTER: You've lost me arm.
RIMMER: I've lost your watch too.
LISTER: You Bastard!
RIMMER: No, you're right. It's my fault. My hands are up ... well, my
hand is up. (He starts to laugh.)
LISTER: You think this is funny? (Looking as upset as any body who has
just lost an arm would.)
RIMMER: No. But _this_ is.
RIMMER brings the missing arm from behind his back and sticking two
fingers up on both hands, makes gestures to LISTER. He starts laughing
and slips over. As LISTER looks down at him CAT and KRYTEN look at each
other and start laughing.
28 Int. White Midget.
Brief view of the return flight.
29 Int. Sleeping quarters.
LISTER is sitting on his bunk with a white blood splattered bandage
around his head. He has just attached his locks to some elastic and he
places these around his head over the bandage.
LISTER: Oh, Hello. It's captain chloroform.
KRYTEN: Oh please, mister David sir. My guilt chips is already in
overdrive. I, I feel terrible! (He paws at Lister's leg.)
LISTER: _You_ feel terrible? How about my smeggin' head?
KRYTEN: I _had_ to obey him. It's in my programming to obey all humans.
No matter how insane.
He removes the white cover from trolley he was pushing to show a small
portion of food on a plate.
KRYTEN: Dinner is served, sir.
LISTER: Lettuce and a grated carrot. I'm on this for six months.
RIMMER's body enters the room looking very stiff.
LISTER: What's wrong with you? You look like you've seen a ghost.
CAT: I was asleep, OK? Next thing I know plastic Percy here puts a
sponge on my face and out go the lights.
CAT/RIMMER moves stiffly to the table and sits down rather grumpily.
KRYTEN: It was an order.
RIMMER/CAT enters the room carrying a plate of what appears to be mashed
potatoes with other food stuffs stuck in it and sits at the table.
RIMMER: Just one night, I promise. I'll give it back first thing
tomorrow. Maybe Thursday.
He slumps his head forward into the potato and starts to thrash it about
like a pig again.
The End
Season 3 Episode 3 - Polymorph
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
RED DWARF Series III Episode 3, "Polymorph"
1 Warning logo.
The Red Dwarf logo appears on the screen with the word "WARNING."
VOICE: This week's "Red Dwarf" contains scenes which are unsuitable for
younger viewers and people of a nervous disposition.
You have been warned.
2 Opening titles.
3 Ext. Space.
A pod is floating through space. Signs on the side read "GENETIC WASTE"
and "DO NOT OPEN." It broadcasts a message.
VOICE: Danger. Do not attempt to open this pod.
As the pod rotates, it is seen that a hole has been eaten out of the
side.
VOICE: The creature inside is extremely hostile. It feeds off the human
psyche, seeks out the deranged, the unbalanced and the emotionally
crippled.
The camera view goes inside the hole into the blackness of the pod.
4 Ext. Red Dwarf.
A closeup of the hull reveals that a hole has been chewed into it. A
monster's growl is heard.
5 Int. Red Dwarf. Cargo hold.
We see a view from inside the mouth of the creature, looking out as it
slinks along the cluttered floor of one of the decks aboard the Red
Dwarf. The creature makes some weak "Nyum nyum" noises. Obviously, it's
very small. It slinks up to a broken mirror and looks at itself, then
mutters in disgust and covers its eyes. Suddenly, it turns into ...
A teddy bear; a bucket and spade, a pot of red flowers (a bowl of
petunias, perhaps?), a Tonka dump truck, a doll wearing a long hoop
dress, a white rotary-dial telephone, a toy elephant, a two-tone hat
(help me identify the type of hat, please), a baseball mitt with ball, a
toy boxer, a toy drum, a yellow lamp (what kind is it? shape of glass
looks like the lamp on the TARDIS), a red toy Volkswagen beetle, a
rollerskate, a traffic cone, a lampshade, a toy penguin with a sign on
its belly (but it's lying on its back, so the sign can't be read), a
piggy bank, a Ken doll with something stuck to its chest (help?), a blue
potty, an alarm clock, a tennis ball, a tennis shoe, a large pot, a
yellow Koosh Ball, a floor-scrub brush, a bucket on its side, a tiny blue
toy whale, a statue of Indian origin (help?), an incandescent lightbulb,
a red old-style horn, bell end down, a yellow ball (if this is a tennis
ball, what was the slightly larger yellow-and-orange ball earlier?
squash?), a red sock, and a fluffy white rabbit.
Satisfied, the polymorph hops away from the mirror, and comes to rest
down the corridor, where it changes its mind and turns into a red-white-
and-blue basketball (coloured like the defunct American Basketball
Association's balls), and bounces away.
6 Int. Sleeping Quarters.
In the officers' quarters, where LISTER and RIMMER now live, LISTER is
preparing a meal. He is scooping out of a tin labelled "Red Dwarf;
Chilli Powder; Ship's Issue." He is wearing a black robe with green
edges.
LISTER: Not too little, and not too much -- that's important.
He taps the spoon on the edge of the can to get just the right amount,
then dumps the can's contents into a bowl, and puts the spoon's contents
back in the can. He picks up a fork and begins to stir the ingredients.
LISTER: Here we go!
KRYTEN enters, carrying a vacuum-cleaner tube.
KRYTEN: I just thought I'd give your quarters a quick tickle around, sir.
I won't take a jiff.
LISTER: Not now, Kryten -- I'm cooking.
KRYTEN attaches the tube to his groin and begins vacuuming.
LISTER: I didn't know you could do that!
KRYTEN: (Stopping the vacuum) Oh yes, I can plug a number of add-ons into
my groinal socket, allowing me to perform virtually any household task
imaginable.
LISTER: Like what?
KRYTEN: Oh, you name it: buzz saw, power drill, hedge trimmer ... even
an egg whisk.
LISTER: (Taking the end of the tube, which still is attached to KRYTEN)
What, so you just, like, stick the egg whisk attachment on the end and
you can, like, whip up a Spanish omelette?
KRYTEN: I certainly can, sir, but it's amazing how few people are
prepared to eat them.
LISTER gives the tube back to KRYTEN, who begins to vacuum again, but
quickly begins to spasm. Eventually he shuts the vacuum down.
KRYTEN: Goodness me, I must have sucked up a penny. (He spits out the
coin.) I better change the old bag there. Yes, I'll just go and get a
fresh one.
KRYTEN leaves as CAT enters. They each raise their left hand, and high-
five in passing. CAT is wearing a leopard-skin jacket.
CAT: Mmm!!! Something smells good! What is it? (Sniffs.) It's me! I
love this aftershave! (Spins round, palms outturned, then goes to the
table.)
LISTER: You are five minutes away from the greatest meal of your life,
man, so set your tastebuds on Defcom 3!
CAT now stands behind the table, which has candles on it, as well as
various medical supplies.
CAT: Hey, you've really made an effort here! Where'd you get all this
stuff?
LISTER: I just got sick and tired of using plastic knives and forks, man,
so I went to the medical unit and nicked some gear.
CAT: (Picking a scalpel off the table, disgustedly) This is a scalpel!
I'm supposed to cut _my_ food with a scalpel? Something that has been
inside someone's guts?
LISTER: It's all been cleaned; it's all been washed; it's clean.
CAT: (As he approaches LISTER) ...something that, long ago in history,
may well have performed a certain popular Jewish operation? _I'm_
supposed to eat with _this_?
LISTER: (Taps CAT's cheek with the back of his hand with each beat.) Get
the onion salads out of the fridge!
CAT: (Stops as he sees the sign on the refrigerator.) "Embryo
Refrigeration Unit?!"
LISTER: How many times...? It's clean! It's been cleaned!
CAT opens the refrigerator door, muttering "onion salad" as he scans the
contents of the refrigerator.
LISTER: They're in the kidney bowls, next to the {cholostomy} bag with
the chilli sauce in it.
CAT removes the two kidney bowls, rather disgustedly. LISTER has
finished his mixing.
LISTER: Here we go, here we go!
LISTER opens a microwave oven, then uses his hands to throw the contents
of his bowl into it. He then tosses in a roll, and squirts a tube of
catsup-like substance (can anyone read the label, or otherwise have an
idea what this stuff could be?). He closes the microwave oven door, and,
after a buzz, opens it, removing two plates with the properly prepared
meals on them. He goes to the table.
LISTER: Yahoo! Come on, man, come on! It's ready! Sit down, sit down!
(Putting a plate down at his seat) One kebab for you ... (putting the
other plate at CAT's seat) ... and one kebab for me.
They sit down. CAT folds a serviette into his collar. LISTER holds up
an enormous metal cylindrical object.
LISTER: (Offering) Lemon juice?
CAT: (Pointing at the object) What the hell is that?
LISTER: It's a syringe.
CAT: What kind of syringe?
LISTER: It's for cows -- artificial insemination. It's been washed; it's
clean; it's all been sterilised. Do you want lemon juice or what?
CAT: (Removes the serviette.) Ahem. Excuse me. (Stands.)
LISTER: (Baffled) What? What about the meal?
CAT: This isn't a meal -- this is an autopsy!
LISTER: It's only the starter, man! What about the main course?
CAT: Hey, you think I got nothing better to do than hang around watching
you serve chicken {chaucer} in a stool bucket? (Leaves.)
LISTER: Oh, charming. (Picks up a urine-sample bottle of wine and begins
to pour it into a beaker.) I dunno. You pull out all the stops ... you
make an effort ... try and do something with a little bit of _extra_
class, and where does it get you? (Drinks the wine.) Mmm, very cheeky!
7 Int. Corridor.
Outside, in the corridor, the polymorph, still as the basketball, bounces
along, and then into the room. LISTER, confused, picks it up and rests
it on the table. While he goes to the door to look into the corridor,
the polymorph rolls onto his plate and turns into a second kebab.
8 Int. Video room.
In another area of the ship, RIMMER is watching a video, smiling. The
video image is unstable, clearly a home video, of a family having a
picnic.
KRYTEN: (bumping into something on a countertop) Oh, I'm sorry to
interrupt, sir. (holds up a new vacuum bag) I just need to get a, heh
heh... er, sorry.
RIMMER: Oh, no, Kryten, it's all right. Just running a few of the old
home movies.
KRYTEN moves to see.
RIMMER: (Pointing at the screen) That's me, there. Those are my
brothers: John, Frank, and Howard. God, we were close. "The Four
Musketeers," we used to call ourselves. Well, "The Three Musketeers,"
actually -- they always let me be the Queen of Spain. Marvellous. I
mean, yes, I was the butt of the occasional practical joke, but I mean,
er, nothing sinister.
On the screen, two boys in scout uniforms are seen hammering wooden
stakes into the ground. The stakes are tied to the arms and legs of a
third boy in scout uniform. One boy smears jam onto the bound boy's face
as the other holds up a tin labelled "Ants" to the camera, and then
begins pouring it onto the bound boy's face.
RIMMER: Just the usual boyhood pranks, you know: apple-pied beds, and
black-eyed telescope ... and, one time, they even hid a small land mine
in my sand pit. They took it from my father's gun cabinet. I mean,
how were they supposed to know it was going to go off? Marvellous
guys.
The video image now shows a woman reading "Good Schools Guide."
KRYTEN: Oh, and, er, who's that, there? and old girlfriend, Mr Arnold,
sir?
RIMMER: Hardly.
KRYTEN: Ah, no. Not really your type, I suppose -- silly old trout like
that.
RIMMER: She's my mother.
KRYTEN: Oh! I am _so_ sorry, sir!!!
RIMMER: Just forget it.
KRYTEN: Oh, how can I forget it, sir? I compared your mother to a
foolish, aged, blubbery fish! I said she was a simple-minded, scaly
old piscine! I estimated she was an ugly, lungless marine animal with
galloping senility! A putrid amphibious gillbreather with (cries) with
less brains than a mollusc!
RIMMER: (Forcefully) Forget it! (Looks back to screen.) Ah! Freeze!
The image freezes on her still reading the book.
RIMMER: Ah, there she is -- magnificent woman. Very prim, very proper.
Some say austere. Some people took her for cold, thought she was
aloof. Not a bit of it -- she just despised idiots; no time for fools.
Tragic, really. Otherwise we would have got on famously.
KRYTEN: Well, if you'll excuse me, sir, I'll go now -- this is clearly a
very private family moment. I've no fish to embarrass you further.
I'll let myself trout. (Begins to leave, but then returns, crying once
again in apology.) Oh, sir, I'm--
RIMMER: Just go!
KRYTEN leaves. As RIMMER shakes his head, HOLLY appears on the screen.
HOLLY: I don't want you to panic, Arn, but it does appear there's a very
tiny possibility that there may very well in all likelihood possibly be
a non-human life form on board.
RIMMER: You mean like last time, when you got us all worked up and we
went scooting off down to the cargo bay complete with bazookoids and
backpacks, and it turned out to be one of Lister's socks?
HOLLY: I didn't recognise the genetic structure. Biologically speaking,
they were a completely new life form.
RIMMER: Absolutely ridiculous! I felt the total goit.
HOLLY: Well, I think you should take a butchers.
RIMMER: Where is it?
HOLLY: I lost it. It's somewhere along the habitation decks.
RIMMER: (Standing) I can't get a moment's peace in this place...
9 Int. Sleeping quarters.
LISTER is sitting back at the table as KRYTEN enters, with the vacuum
cleaner tube attached.
KRYTEN: Enjoying your meal, sir?
LISTER: It's delicious, Kryten -- de-smegging-licious. It's my own
recipe, you know: Shami Kebab Diablo! It's beautiful, man. It's like
eating molten lava. I cooked up one for Petersen once, you know ... he
was in sickbay for a week -- for a week!
LISTER shakes some pepper on the remaining kebab as he watches KRYTEN
clean. The kebab wriggles and sneezes.
LISTER: What'd you say?
KRYTEN: I didn't say anything, sir.
LISTER picks up a scalpel and sets to cut the kebab, but he notices it
wriggling. It notices him trying to cut it, and leaps around his neck.
LISTER falls to the floor, trying to pry off the kebab.
KRYTEN: Do you seriously like them that hot, sir?
LISTER: (Pointing at the kebab) It's trying to kill me!
KRYTEN: Oh, it's a good one, huh?
LISTER manages finally to pry it off, and the kebab runs behind some
cases.
LISTER: It went under here -- I can see it! (He beats at the cases with
a baseball bat.)
KRYTEN: Are you all right, sir?
A noise is heard as the polymorph changes shape.
LISTER: Smeg! It's gone!
KRYTEN: What?
LISTER: How can that be? Where could it go? (He picks up a pair of red
shorts from the floor and begins to put them on.) We better get out of
here, Kryten. Something very weird is going on. Something very,
very-- ooh! There's some kind of pain in my groin...
Movement is seen underneath LISTER's robe as his shorts begin making
noise. He screams.
KRYTEN: What's wrong?
LISTER: My underpants -- they're shrinking! Oh god! The boxers are
alive, man! They're getting smaller!!!
LISTER falls to the floor on his back, writhing in pain.
LISTER: Help me, please! Please!!!
KRYTEN goes to his knees and begins to try removing LISTER's shorts.
RIMMER enters, and sees the goings-on from behind KRYTEN.
LISTER: (Still bouncing wildly) Please, I'm begging you! Get them off,
man! Pull them down!
KRYTEN finally retrieves the shorts, and stands, holding them -- very
small they are too. He puts them on LISTER's bunk.
RIMMER: Well, I can't say I'm totally shocked... You'll bonk anything,
won't you, Lister!
LISTER: Kryten, the boxers: where are they?
KRYTEN: I threw them over here.
He looks but he can't find them.
LISTER: You sure?
KRYTEN: There's nothing here!
The polymorph can be heard changing form once more.
KRYTEN: (Rummaging around LISTER's bunk) Just the blanket, and the
pillows, and the...
LISTER: (Startled) Snake!!!
KRYTEN: ... snake.
RIMMER: Snake?!
KRYTEN has a large boa constrictor wrapped around him. It suddenly leaps
at and attacks LISTER. LISTER struggles with it, but manages to stuff it
into his laundry basket.
RIMMER: What the smeg is going on?
LISTER: (Walking backwards away from the basket, cowering) I hate snakes!
They freak me out totally, snakes.
He picks up some large forceps and approaches the basket.
LISTER: They are my all-time second-worst fear, guy.
RIMMER: What's your first?
The polymorph changes shape as LISTER opens the basket, and a huge,
fleshy, slimy-appendaged creature shoots out, reaching the ceiling. It
has a set of sharp teeth on extendable jaws.
LISTER: (To RIMMER) This.
From between the jaws, a thin, slimy sucker comes out and attaches to
LISTER's forehead, with a quiet, squishy "splat." LISTER collapses.
10 Int. Medical unit.
LISTER is asleep in the medical unit. CAT leans against his bed. RIMMER
and KRYTEN are standing nearby.
CAT: Is he OK?
RIMMER: As far as we can tell, yes.
CAT: So where'd the creature go?
RIMMER: Well, it turned into a kind of splodgy, squelchy thing and
squidged off down the corridor.
CAT: What is it? Some kind of alien?
HOLLY: No, it's from Earth -- man made. I checked out its DNA profile.
Some kind of genetic experiment that went wrong.
KRYTEN: Apparently, it was an attempt to create the ultimate warrior -- a
mutant that could change shape to suit its terrain and deceive its
enemies.
CAT: So what did go wrong?
KRYTEN: (Throaty and dramatic) It's insane!
HOLLY: It feeds off the negative emotions -- fear, guilt, anger, paranoia
-- drains them out of its prey.
KRYTEN: It's a sort of emotional vampire. It changes shape to provoke a
negative emotion -- in Lister's case, it took him to the very limit of
his terror, then sucked out his fear.
RIMMER: So now Lister's got no sense of fear?
KRYTEN: Precisely.
RIMMER: What are we going to do?
LISTER: (Sitting up, awake) Well, I say let's get out there and twat it!
RIMMER: Lister, you're ill. Just relax and leave this to us.
LISTER: I could have had it in the sleeping quarters, but you saw it --
you saw it -- it took me by surprise.
RIMMER: Lister, it turned into an eight-foot-tall, armour-plated alien
killing machine.
LISTER: If it wants a Bonney, we'll give it one! One swift knee in the
happy sacks; it'll drop like anyone else!
RIMMER: Fine, well, we'll bear that in mind when we're planning our
strategy.
LISTER: I'm gonna rip out its windpipe and beat it death with the tonsil
end.
RIMMER: Yes, yes, very good...
LISTER: I'm gonna stick my fist so far down its gob, I'll be able to pull
the label off its underpants.
RIMMER: Yes, yes... Kryten...
KRYTEN injects a sedative through LISTER's arm.
LISTER: What's that, pal? You starting trouble??
KRYTEN: It's just a little something to calm you down, sir.
LISTER: Come on, then! All of you, slags! All together or one at a
time! I don't care -- it's all the same to me! I'm... (Collapses.)
RIMMER: Ah, thank god for that. Right -- as far as I can see it, we have
two options: One, we take it on and kill it; or Two, run away. Who's
for Two?
KRYTEN: Two sounds pretty good to me, sir.
CAT: It's always been _my_ lucky number.
RIMMER: Right, well, let's load up Starbug and get out of here.
HOLLY: What about Lister?
RIMMER: Oh, just seal the hatch from the inside. He'll be safe here
until we're ready to go.
HOLLY: Remember: it's out there, and it could be anything.
RIMMER: Let's move it.
KRYTEN: What about the Space Corps Directive which states, "It is our
primary overriding duty to contact other life forms, exchange
information, and, wherever possible, bring them home?"
RIMMER: What about the Rimmer Directive which states, "Never tangle with
anything that's got more teeth than the entire Osmond family?"
RIMMER leaves, and is followed by KRYTEN and CAT.
11 Int. Cargo deck.
Later, in the bowels of the ship, the three are going down a cargo lift.
In the dim blue light, KRYTEN is monitoring a device he holds in his
hand. Beeps from it become more rapid until it makes a solid tone. CAT
is wearing a silver jacket, and has on a headband and studded fingerless
gloves. CAT and KRYTEN each carry a bazookoid and wear a backpack.
KRYTEN: (Softly) It's here.
CAT: Where?
KRYTEN: Somewhere.
RIMMER: Set the bazookoids to heat-seeker.
CAT and KRYTEN do so.
RIMMER: When you see it, aim roughly in its direction, and the heat
seekers will do the rest.
They step off the lift, and creep around. RIMMER looks down a corridor
between crates of cargo.
RIMMER: (Mumbling) Is that a shadow? (Shouting) It's in the shadows!
There! There! There! (Points frantically.)
CAT and KRYTEN emerge from behind crates beside RIMMER, and fire down the
corridor.
RIMMER: Sorry. My fault. False alarm.
CAT: Idiot.
The heat-seeking balls of energy round the corner as they continue their
search for a valid target. They then change direction and head back
toward the trio. The view changes to a computer screen bullet-eye view.
The screen reads "LASERTHERMO ENABLED; STATUS KILL; LOCKED." The group
manages to duck just in time, and the energy balls fly over their heads.
RIMMER: I don't understand it -- holograms don't produce heat, and
neither do androids. What are they homing in on?
CAT freezes for a moment, then looks over at RIMMER and KRYTEN as they
look at him.
CAT: So long, guys. (Runs away.)
The energy balls return to where RIMMER and KRYTEN are and round the
corner, chasing CAT. CAT runs around a few corners, then grabs a
cardboard box and holds it up. The energy falls burn through it and go
down the aisle. CAT throws down the box and begins running again as the
energy balls change direction to follow him again. From a motionless
camera, CAT can be seen trotting across a perpendicular aisle, followed
by the balls, then almost immediately across the next aisle, in the other
direction. This continues for the next aisle, and then he's seen running
down the last aisle one way, then the other. The view changes to ground
level between CAT's feet. He leaps over the energy balls and dives down
a side aisle. The balls still chase after him, but have lost him. CAT
walks quietly down an aisle, with his back against the cargo boxes. He
peeks down another aisle, then walks into an intersection. At the next
intersection, the two balls hover, waiting for him.
CAT: Oh, come on -- give me a break!
CAT runs down an aisle again, followed by the balls. He runs to a dead
end except for a door. He activates the door, which slides open, and
ducks. The balls fly past him, into the small area beyond the door. CAT
reaches up and hits the door control again, trapping the energy balls
inside. He stands up.
CAT: You either got it or you ain't. Boys, you ain't even close.
(Struts away, then hears RIMMER's voice calling.)
RIMMER: (VO) Cat, where are you?
CAT: Over here!
RIMMER: (Rounding a corner somewhere) Stay put -- we'll come and find
you.
KRYTEN: (Rounding the same corner) Keep talking!
CAT doesn't believe this, and sneaks around warily. He hops into a `T'
intersection, turns 360 degrees, then walks down the vertical part of the
`T'. A woman comes up behind him.
WOMAN: What are you looking for?
CAT: A mutant. It's dangerous -- it can turn into anything!
WOMAN: Oh, sounds pretty scary!
CAT: It is, baby. Believe me.
WOMAN: (As they round a corner) It must take a really brave sort of guy
to do this kind of work.
CAT: Well, I guess you're right!
WOMAN: And smart -- I bet you have to be smart!
CAT: (Stops walking) Smart? Yeah, you definitely have to be smart. Like
I say, it can turn into anything. You gotta have your wits about you
all the time -- don't let up for one second, or it'll just creep up on
you and (motions with his paw) _blip!_ you're dog meat. (Motioning
with his head down the corridor) Come on, babe. (Walks on.)
WOMAN: You know, you're really quite a guy -- brave, smart, handsome...
CAT: (Stops walking suddenly and smiles.) Oh, you think handsome?
WOMAN: Oh, come on. You know, you're probably the best-looking guy I've
ever seen.
CAT: Well, I wasn't going to be the first to say it.
WOMAN: Do you know what I'd really like?
CAT: Hmm?
WOMAN: I'd really like to make love to guy like you.
CAT: (Big grin) Well, I'm sure I have a window in my schedule somewhere.
Let's see ... er, what are you doing in, say, ten seconds time?
WOMAN: Nothing I couldn't cancel. (Runs her tongue along her teeth.)
CAT: Hi. I'm the Cat.
WOMAN: Hi. I'm the Genetic Mutant.
CAT: Glad to know you ... Genny who?
The polymorph turns back into its large slimy form, its jaws extend, and
the thin, slimy sucker come out and plops onto CAT's forehead.
Elsewhere, KRYTEN and RIMMER have heard this and begin running down the
aisles, RIMMER trailing a considerable distance behind.
RIMMER: It's got him! It's got him!
KRYTEN rushes around the corner near CAT. RIMMER walks in slowly behind.
KRYTEN: (Kneeling over CAT) Oh, my goodness! Are you all right? (Pets
CAT's head, then uses an electronic instrument.)
RIMMER: Is he dead?
KRYTEN: Unconscious, but, according to the psi scan, he appears to have
lost an emotion.
RIMMER: Which emotion?
KRYTEN: He's lost his vanity!
RIMMER: This is your fault, Kryten.
KRYTEN: (Stammering, surprised) M-M-M-My fault?
RIMMER: We were supposed to stick together. You let the Cat run off
alone.
KRYTEN: But it wasn't... I mean...
RIMMER: He trusted you. Now look at him.
KRYTEN: Oh, please... I feel so--
RIMMER: GUILTY?!!!
KRYTEN: Yes.
RIMMER: GOOD!!! (his face stretches)
KRYTEN looks shocked, then the slimy sucker plops onto his forehead. A
twoshot shows the polymorph sucking the guilt from KRYTEN.
The real RIMMER runs around some corners, and comes behind the creature
still feeding. He sneaks closer to it, then jumps into a pseudo-karate
stance, with a "Hah!" shouted. The polymorph has no reaction. RIMMER
steps back a bit, then the creature turns to face him. RIMMER holds up
the back of his hands, limp-wristed, then moves his hands, saying "Shoo!
Shoo!" The polymorph changes into its small initial form and slinks away,
between some boxes. RIMMER approaches KRYTEN.
RIMMER: Let's just get Lister and get out of here!
KRYTEN: It's got my guilt! I have lost the single emotion which prevents
my transgressing the mores, moras, and matters of civilised society.
RIMMER: Stop your blithering, Kryten. Come on! Grab the Cat, and let's
go!
KRYTEN: Oh, screw you, hadron-head!
RIMMER leaves.
12 Int. Medical unit.
A spigot is bulging. LISTER is beginning to wake up. The polymorph
makes its way out of the spigot and falls to the floor.
13 Int. Corridor.
RIMMER runs down a corridor, but then stops, turning around.
RIMMER: Where have you been? Let's go!
CAT staggers around the corner. His hair is a mess and he carries paper
sack with a bottle inside. He wears dirty clothes, including an anorak.
His speech is slurred.
CAT: I've been getting myself comfortable, man. (Staggers beyond
RIMMER.)
RIMMER: Come on, Kryten! You're holding us all up!
KRYTEN rounds the corner, lugging a bazookoid.
KRYTEN: Ah, who cares?
RIMMER: You're going to get us all killed! (Rounds the next corner.)
KRYTEN: So?
14 Int. Medical unit.
A woman's hand, wearing a ring, is toying on LISTER's abdomen. LISTER
finally wakes up, looks at her face, then lets his head fall back down.
KRYTEN, RIMMER and CAT enter.
KRYTEN: Oh, look! It's Bonehead's mum. (Laughs.)
RIMMER: Mother?
RIMMER'S MOTHER: Hello, dear!
RIMMER: _What_ are you doing?
RIMMER'S MOTHER: Well, what does it look like, darling? (Kisses LISTER.)
RIMMER: (To LISTER) You've just made love to my mother!?
LISTER: Yeah. Do you want to make something of it?
HOLLY: It's not your mother, it's the polymorph!
RIMMER: (Half shouting) You've just had my mum!?
RIMMER'S MOTHER: Five times! He was like a wild stallion!
KRYTEN: (Snidely quoting RIMMER) "Very prim, very proper, almost
austere!" (Laughs.)
HOLLY: Don't fall for it, Arn -- it's trying to make you angry!
RIMMER'S MOTHER: Darling, I wish you could have seen him in action. He
was like a set of pistons in an ocean liner engine room.
RIMMER: (Turning) I think I'm going to be sick.
HOLLY: Don't get angry! That's what it wants!
RIMMER: Lister and mother... (Through grit teeth) It's a dream come true.
RIMMER'S MOTHER: (Sits up to face RIMMER's profile.) He's so energetic!
I honestly thought my false teeth were going to fall out.
RIMMER: How lovely.
RIMMER'S MOTHER: The positions he bent me into!
RIMMER: Terrific. That sounds enchanting. Well done.
RIMMER'S MOTHER: And the things this boy can do with Alphabetti
Spaghetti!
HOLLY: Cool it, Arnie!
RIMMER: (Furious) ALPHABETTI SPAGHETTI?!!!
The sucker attaches to RIMMER's hologrammatic forehead, just above the
`H'.
15 Int. Sleeping quarters. Later.
Everyone is assembled together. CAT sits on the floor, drinking out of
the bottle. Most of the drink spills down his shirt, but it blends in
with previous stains.
CAT: Where is it now?
HOLLY: It's gone back down to the cargo bays, sleeping off a four-course
meal of fear, vanity, guilt, and anger. You'd better get it before it
comes back for seconds.
RIMMER is wearing a T-shirt which reads, "GIVE QUICHE A CHANCE." He also
wears shorts and a wristwatch, and is smoking a pipe. His face sports a
goatee and black spectacles. He speaks with a lot of hand movements,
fingers together, outstretched.
RIMMER: Look, just because it's an armour-plated alien killing machine
that salivates unspeakable slobber, doesn't mean it's a bad person.
What we've got to do is get it round a table, and put together a
solution package -- perhaps over tea and biscuits.
KRYTEN: (In LISTER's bunk) Look at him! You can't trust his opinion --
he's got no anger. He's a total dork!
RIMMER: Good point, Kryten. Let's take that on board, shall we? Erm,
David? David, do you have anything you want to bring to this forum?
LISTER: (Carrying a bazookoid on his shoulder and holding the baseball
bat) Well, yes, I have, actually, Arnold. Why don't we go down to the
ammunition stores, get the nuclear warheads and then strap one to my
head? I'll nuke the smegger to oblivion! (Makes a butting motion with
his head.)
RIMMER: Right, well, that's very nice, David. Let's put that on the back
burner, shall we? Erm, Cat, let's have your contribution ... come on.
CAT: Hey, don't ask me my opinion -- I'm nobody. Just pretend I'm not
here.
RIMMER: That's lovely. Thank you very much. Erm, moving on a step --
and I hope no-one thinks that I'm setting myself up as a self-elected
chairperson ... just see me as a facilitator -- erm, Kryten, what's
your view? Don't be shy.
KRYTEN: Well, I think we should send Lister in as a decoy, and, while
it's busy eating him alive, we could creep up on it unawares and blast
it into the stratosphere.
LISTER: (Enthusiastic) Good plan! That's the best plan yet! Let it get
knackered eating me to death, then you guys could just, like, catch it
unawares!
RIMMER: Well, that's certainly an option, David, yes. Erm, but here's my
proposal: Let's get tough. The time for talking is over. Call it
extreme if you like, but I propose we hit it hard and hit it fast with
a major -- and I mean _major_ -- leaflet campaign, and while it's
reeling from that, we'd follow up with a {whist} drive, a car boot
sale, some street theatre and possibly even some benefit concerts. OK?
Now, if that's not enough, I'm sorry, it's time for the T-shirts:
"Mutants Out" ... "Chameleonic Life Forms, No Thanks" ... and if that's
not enough, well, I don't know what will be.
KRYTEN: Has anyone ever told you that you are a disgusting, pus-filled
bubo who has all the wit, charm and self-possession of an Alsatian dog
after a head-swap operation?
LISTER: Listen, you bunch of tarts, it's clobbering time! (Hits the bat
against his head.) There's a body bag out there with that scudball's
name on it, and I'm doing up the zip. Anyone who gets in my way gets a
napalm enema!
CAT: I think _everybody's_ right, except me, so just forget I spoke, all
right?
RIMMER: Erm, I think we're all beginning to lose sight of the real issue
here, which is: what are we going to call ourselves? Erm, and I think
it comes down to a choice between "The League Against Salivating
Monsters" or, my own personal preference, which is "The Committee for
the Liberation and Integration of Terrifying Organisms and their
Rehabilitation Into Society." Erm, one drawback with that -- the
abbreviation is "CLITORIS."
LISTER: Look, it needs killing! If that means I have to sacrifice my
life in some stupid pointless way, then all the better!
KRYTEN: Yes! Why not? I mean, even if it doesn't work, it'll still be a
laugh!
LISTER: Right, so let's just cut all of this business (He moves his
fingers around the bat in a mouth-talking way) and get on with it!
Last one alive's a wet ponce. Who's with me?
RIMMER: Well, the car stickers aren't ready until Thursday, but sometimes
one just has to act spontaneously. People, let's go. (Follows LISTER
out.)
CAT: (Standing) Hey, I'm coming, too. Maybe I can bum some money off
him.
KRYTEN: Maybe if I hand you guys over, it'll let me go. MOVE IT,
SUCKERS!
16 Int. Cargo bay.
Later, the polymorph moves through the cargo bay. At a `T' intersection,
LISTER jumps in, then whips the baseball bat around each side of him a
few times, then misses, sending the bat impacting between his legs. He
staggers for a bit then begins to walk as the others fall in behind him.
RIMMER is holding a sign which reads "CHAMELEONIC LIFE FORMS NO THANKS."
He's singing a "Love Everybody; Peace; Love" song.)
LISTER: Come on, you chicken. Show us your slobbery chops, and we'll
blow them off.
KRYTEN: Here they are -- nice juicy humans! Come and get them! Heeere,
muty mutant!
The polymorph continues wandering around the aisles. The foursome stand
looking down an aisle as the creature stands to its full height behind
them, unnoticed. LISTER uses his baseball bat to open the door, and the
energy balls fired earlier zoom out. The foursome duck, and the balls
fly to and detonate on the polymorph. Bits of the polymorph fall on the
foursome, as they suddenly have regained their lost emotions. They stand
up.
CAT: Phewee! What am I wearing?
KRYTEN: Oh, how can you ever forgive me, sirs? Naturally, I will commit
suicide immediately. (Sticks his bazookoid barrel in his mouth.)
LISTER: (Pulling KRYTEN's bazookoid away) Hey... We were all a bit
whacked out there.
RIMMER: You can say that again. (Looks at his pipe.)
CAT: Come on -- let's go and clean up. If I don't get into some co-
ordinated evening wear, I'm going to have to resign my post as Most
Handsome Guy on the Ship.
CAT leaves, followed by KRYTEN, RIMMER and LISTER.
17 Ext. Space.
The pod from which the polymorph came still spins in space, and another
sign is seen on it: "CONTENTS 2."
18 Int. Cargo bay.
Down the cargo bay, the group walks in line: CAT, KRYTEN RIMMER, LISTER
and ... LISTER! The second LISTER stops, looks into the camera, smiles,
giggles, roars, and turns into the eight-foot slimy creature. Its sucker
reaches toward the viewer.
The End
Rimmer It's cold outside
CHRIS BARRIE There's no kind of atmosphere
I'm all alone
Lister More or less
CRAIG CHARLES Let me fly
Far away from here
Cat Fun fun fun
DANNY JOHN-JULES In the sun sun sun
Holly I want to lie
HATTIE HAYRIDGE Shipwrecked and comatose
Drinking fresh
Kryten Mango juice
ROBERT LLEWELLYN Goldfish shoals
Nibbling at my toes
Genny Fun fun fun
FRANCES BARBER In the sun sun sun
Young Rimmer Fun fun fun
SIMON GAFFNEY In the sun sun sun
Mrs Rimmer
KALLI GREENWOOD
Music HOWARD GOODALL
Unit Manager JANET SMITH
Graphic Designer MARK ALLEN
Camera Supervisor DAVE FOX
Vision Mixer SONIA LOVETT
Technical Co-Ordinator TONY SMITH
Prop Buyer STELLA McINTYRE
Visual Effects Designer PETER WRAGG
Videotape Editor ED WOODEN
Assistant Floor Manager DONA DiSTEFANO
Production Assistant CHRISTINA HAMILTON
Production Manager MIKE AGNEW
Costume Designer HOWARD BURDEN
Make-Up Designer BETHAN JONES
Sound Supervisor TONY WORTHINGTON
Lighting Director JOHN POMPHREY
Designer MEL BIBBY
Associate Producer GILLY ARCHER
Executive Producer PAUL JACKSON
Production ED BYE
ROB GRANT
DOUG NAYLOR
A Paul Jackson Production for BBC North West
(C) MCMLXXXIX
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)