by Ian Doescher
Young man, to thee I’ll proffer some advice,
A ducat’s worth, yet nobly, freely giv’n:
The man thou callest Doc, this Doctor Brown—
Though doctor of what science I know not,
Nor whereby he hath earn’d the title, nay—
He is a danger to himself and thee,
A senseless madman and a lunatic.
If thou with him dost spend thy wasted days,
It shall be only trouble that thou find’st.
MARTY Forsooth, your words have quite convinc’d me, sir.
STRICK. Thy problem is thine attitude, McFly,
Which goeth e’er before thee like a flag,
Wav’d high—a standard with no standards, yea—
Announcing unto all, “Here comes a slacker,
A worthless imp, a lazy, wayward fool.”
How thou dost of thy father make me think,
Who was a slacker for the record books.
MARTY These words I’ll take with me, if I may go.
STRICK. I could not help but notice that thy band—
The merry minstrels thou dost play withal—
Shall make audition in the afternoon
So that you may perform at our school dance.
Yet wherefore even make attempt, McFly?
There is but little chance thou shalt succeed;
Thine apple falls too near thy father’s tree.
Ne’er did a person by the name McFly
Amount to anything or make a mark
On all our proud Hill Valley history.
MARTY Yet history shall change soon, you shall see.
[Exeunt.
SCENE 2
The school auditorium.
Enter several DANCE COMMITTEE MEMBERS.
COMM. 1 In working for a living, I do strive
To put my heart and soul in ev’ry task.
Today, within this perfect world of ours,
My task, stuck with you, friends, is no more hard
Than to ascend the rung of Jacob’s ladder,
As if our group were angels, back in time.
The youth of our age, cruising to new heights,
Did hear our music’s shape, said, “That’s not me,
I want a new drug for my youthful ears.”
They say, “If this is it, we want it not.”
Their hearts dislik’d the circles of our songs,
Thus they decided ’tis hip to be square.
They fin’lly found a home in their new sound—
They think it is some kind of wonderful.
It hit me like a hammer when I heard it,
For bad is bad when it doth strike mine ears.
I know what I like, friends, and verily
’Tis not their music, nay. Yet, it’s all right—
Don’t fight it, so say I. Accept their music,
Give me the keys and beats and instruments!
Do you believe in love? So do our youth,
And thus, the heart of rock and roll we’ll hear,
This music that the pow’r of love releaseth.
Enter MARTY MCFLY with his band, THE PINHEADS. Enter JENNIFER PARKER aside, watching.
MARTY Our very best we’ll play for you today,
That you may deem us worthy to join in
Hill Valley High’s own battle of the bands.
We call ourselves the Pinheads—now, boys, play!
PINHEADS [singing:] Bet not thy future days upon
One rolling of the dice,
Yet think of lightning, here then gone—
It never striketh twice.
If thou art wise, then hear my song,
And listen to my rhyme,
To save the future from great wrong,
O, get thee back in time.
COMM. 1 I prithee, cease at once this noisome noise,
Whilst I give ye the news of our resolve:
Thou art too loud to earn a place this year.
We’ll hear the next group at another time,
When that our ears have made recovery.
[Exeunt committee members and the Pinheads. Jennifer and Marty walk outside.
Enter various RESIDENTS OF HILL VALLEY. A car passes by with Goldie Wilson’s image upon it, and an advertisement can be heard playing on the RADIO.
RADIO [in car:] Elect again our Baron Goldie Wilson,
For truly, progress is his middle name.
MARTY “Too loud,” these are the words with which they greet
A music for a newfound age and time?
I’d not believe my senses, were I not
Rejected to my face two minutes back.
When shall I ever have a chance to play
Before an audience with will to hear?
JENNIFER Yet one rejection endeth not the world,
Nor doth it close the door on all thy dreams.
MARTY Belike musician shall not be my trade,
For with an audience I strike no chords.
JENNIFER And yet thy talent sings in ev’ry note.
The record thou hast made of thy sweet songs,
With which thou wilt audition once again,
Doth move me with its splendid melodies.
Send it, I bid thee, to a music shoppe
That will appreciate thine aptitude.
As Doc doth often say—
MARTY —Forsooth, I know:
“When thou dost put thy mind unto the task,
Thou mayst accomplish nearly anything.”
[Two women walk by and Marty watches them pass.
JENNIFER Turn not thine eyes, but love the one thou’rt with.
Doc Brown’s advice is worthy of thine ear.
MARTY Think on this possibility, my joy:
What if I send this record unto them,
They listen to the tunes and like them not,
Do thereupon reject me and my songs,
And tell me that I simply have no gift?
In doing so, they would disrupt my future—
Rejection thus would be unbearable.
Alas, how I do sound like mine old man—
My father, who doth often grumble so.
JENNIFER The man is not as bad as thou dost say.
Remember, he shall let us have his car
Tomorrow, wherewith we shall flee the town,
Our school, our families, and ev’ryone.
MARTY Behold, across the avenue—dost see?
A truck of such great beauty, grace, and pow’r,
Bedeck’d in shades of blackest, darkest night,
A thing of splendor, hotter than the sun.
Someday, one such as this will be our own:
Imagine, thou and I ride to the lake,
Put bags for sleeping in the rear compartment,
Lie underneath the firmament, alone.
JENNIFER Cease, love, for to imagine brings but pain
When it may never be. Pray, tell me, dost
Thy mother know about tomorrow night?
MARTY Nay, never, for the lady would erupt.
She thinketh I am bound away with friends
Upon a camping venture and no more.
If she did know I plann’d to go with thee,
Her ire would rise unto the boiling point.
She would give me a mountain built of words
About her own behavior as a child,
How she did never try her parent’s will
Or play the queen within a game of hearts.
Methinks she was conceiv’d within a convent
And born unto a family of nuns.
JENNIFER She would keep thee respectable, I’ll warrant.
MARTY She faileth at the task.
JENNIFER —Yea, happily.
They begin to embrace. Enter a CLOCK TOWER BOOSTER.
BOOSTER Pay heed: preserve the tower of the clock!
Our grand clock tower needeth your swift aid!
Our noble Baron Wilson hath a plan,
; Which shall repair our weary, broken clock!
’Twas thirty years ago the clock was struck
By lightning from the heav’nly clouds above,
As if it did delight e’en Zeus himself
To stop the clock with bolt and marksman’s aim,
Destroying, then, the clock that irk’d him so.
It hath not told the time aright since then.
And we—the keen Hill Valley Preservation
Society—shall keep it as ’twas destin’d.
We, swift as shadow, short as any dream,
Brief as the lightning in the collied night,
Collect as many alms as ye can give
So to preserve the clock just as it is,
Maintain our history and heritage!
MARTY Here is a coin for all thy labors, madam.
[Aside:] Yea, also shall it get thee quickly gone,
No more our loving moment t’interrupt.
BOOSTER My greatest thanks, good lad, for thy support.
Take thou this pamphlet, which shall tell thee more
Of how thou mayst join in our effort just.
MARTY Go now, I bid thee—with thee goes my hopes.
[Exeunt booster and other residents.
[To Jennifer:] Sweet, where were we before we were disturb’d?
JENNIFER Upon the prelude to a tender kiss.
They begin to embrace. Enter JENNIFER’S FATHER.
FATHER Say Jennifer, the time hath come to go.
JENNIFER The time is never perfect, is it, love?
My father comes, and I must go with him.
MARTY Tonight I’ll call on thee.
JENNIFER —This evening I’ll
Be found at my grandmother’s house. Her number
I’ll write for thee upon this pamphlet white.
MARTY [aside:] This must be something more than mere desire,
When but to watch her write with pen and ink
Doth stir my heart to gentle, loving thoughts.
JENNIFER For now, farewell, until another time.
[She kisses him. Exeunt Jennifer and her father.
MARTY I read the words she penn’d upon the page—
“I love thee,” she hath written. O, my sweet!
Such unexpected joy, such wondrous glee
Inspires a sonnet, form’d in melody:
[Sings:] The pow’r of love, O ’tis a curious thing:
It changeth hawks into a gentle dove,
It maketh one man weep, another sing,
More than a feeling: ’tis the pow’r of love.
’Tis tougher e’en than diamonds, rich like cream,
It makes a bad one good, a wrong one right,
’Tis stronger, harder than a wench’s dream,
The pow’r of love shall keep thee home at night.
When first thou feelest it, may make thee sad,
When next thou feelest it, may be profound,
Yet when thou learnest this, thou shalt be glad:
It is this power makes the world go ’round.
’Tis strong and sudden, sent by heav’n above,
It may just save thy life, this pow’r of love.
[Exit.
SCENE 3
At the McFly house.
Enter BIFF TANNEN.
BIFF A thousand sculptors, given time enow,
Of ev’ry aptitude and skill possess’d,
Resounding though their fame and plaudits be,
Though they had perfect tools and finest stone—
Could ne’er produce so great a form as mine.
For I am Biff, the paragon of men—
Who destin’d was for greatness, by my troth.
Enter MARTY MCFLY and GEORGE MCFLY.
MARTY Alack, what horrid scene is this I find?
Our fam’ly car outside—a heap, a wreck,
Deliver’d unto its too-sudden grave
By gloomy truck that like the reaper comes
And hither brings the shell of all my hopes—
My freedom dead, come to a crashing halt.
BIFF [to George:] How couldst thou lend me, who hast giv’n thee much,
A car that hath a blind spot near the side?
GEORGE A blind spot, eh? Such did I never witness.
BIFF Belike I should be dead, may have been kill’d!
GEORGE No blind spot spotted I when I go driving.
[To Marty:] Good even, son, and welcome home this evening.
BIFF Mayhap ’tis thou, McFly, and not thy car,
Which art the blind one. Call’st thou me a knave?
How canst thou reconcile the wreck outside
With thy denial of the car’s blind spot?
GEORGE Good Biff, thou art an honorable person—
So are we all, all honorable people.
May I assume that thou shalt pay the charges
To fix the car that thou hast lately ruin’d?
Canst thou give me assurance of insurance?
BIFF Insurance, ha! The car is thine, McFly.
Seek thou no reassurance from my lips,
For no insurance I maintain shall e’er
Pay for thy car—but thine insurance, thine!
I prithee, mine endurance do not test.
Whilst we do speak of payment, what of this?—
My doublet is awash in sticky beer,
Which I, perforce, did spill when I was struck.
Who shall pay for the cleaning of my coat?
Moreover, hast thou finish’d my reports?
GEORGE In truth, they are not yet completed, sirrah.
Because they are not due until far later—
[Biff grabs George and begins knocking on his head with his knuckles.
BIFF Shall I have cause to bash thee on thy pate?
Is any brain herein, that I must knock
To find out whether there is one at home?
Use thou thy mind and not thy voice, McFly—
I must have time enow to write their words
In mine own hand, as if the work were mine.
Hast thou the consequence consider’d, George,
Should I submit some work first penn’d by thee,
Writ in the style and manner of thy hand?
I would, most instantly, be told “You’re fired!”—
Words I would rather say myself than hear.
Thou wouldst not want that fate for Biff, wouldst thou?
GEORGE [aside:] In truth, there’s naught could make more elated.
Yet such a thought I’ll keep to mine own counsel—
To speak this sentiment could prove most deadly.
BIFF Wouldst thou? Speak now, I would hear thy reply.
GEORGE Of course not, Biff, ’twould be a true disaster.
Tonight, I shall complete the needed statements,
Deliv’ring them to thee upon the morrow.
Shall this suffice?
BIFF —It shall, yet not too soon—
My wont ’tis to sleep late on Saturday.
Behold below, McFly, thy shoe’s untied.
[George looks and Biff knocks him on the chin.
Thou art predictable as time itself,
Which ever runneth forward, never back,
And counteth off the seconds of our life.
Thou art too gullible by half, McFly,
As one who would believe a jester’s trick.
Meanwhile, thy cottage doth not disappoint,
Except for thy most meagre choice of ale.
I hither tow thy car, unto thy house—
Is such cheap swill the best thou canst provide?
MARTY [aside:] Look on this man, a villain in the height,
And fouler than a vulture at a corpse.
BIFF [to Marty:] Upon what lookest thou, thou arse-like pate?
When thou dost see thy mother, wish her well—
There ne’er was woman who’d rebuff strong Biff.
[Exit Biff.
GEORGE My boy, as though
I were a wise soothsayer,
I can report thy words ere thou dost speak them—
And thou hast truth in each and ev’ry letter.
Afore thou judgest, though, I bid thee listen;
Without reflecting, do not be rejecting.
’Tis very true—Biff is my supervisor,
And while I can compose reports most ably,
I am less skill’d at confrontations, Marty.
MARTY The car, the car! O Father, he’s a knave—
He wreck’d the car, destroy’d it utterly.
Great need had I tomorrow of the car.
Didst thou have any notion how important
The night would be to me? Hast e’en a clue?
GEORGE I did and do and had and have, mine offspring.
What may I say to thee but I am sorry?
No other words have I to fix the matter.
Enter LORRAINE, DAVE, and LINDA MCFLY. They turn on the television.
MARTY There is still more: my band shall not perform
At our school dance, which daily doth approach.
GEORGE Believe me when I say thou shalt be happy
That thou escap’d the painful aggravation,
The headaches that, for surety, would follow
This public exhibition of thy talent—
It shall but be a torment to your body.
The dance is but a passing obligation
Thou shalt, in time, be happy to stay clear of.
Take thou some peanut brittle, ease thy spirit.
MARTY Not I.
DAVE —Our father hast it right: the last
Thing thou dost need is aching of thy head.
GEORGE Observe the television, which exhibits
Such situations humorous and comic.
Ha, ha! I chortle ev’ry time I see it.
LORRAINE This cake I have prepar’d most lovingly,
Yet we must take its eating on ourselves.
’Twas fashion’d for thine uncle Joey, who
Did fail again to meet parole conditions
And shall be gaol’d for another season.
The bird, alas, shall not take flight today.
’Twould be most kind if thou wouldst write to him
Or call to wish him well.
DAVE —He is thy brother.
Would not the message better come from thee?
LINDA My brother hath it right while thine is wrong—
It is a grave embarrassment for us
To have an uncle who in prison rots
For all the wrongs that he did perpetrate.
LORRAINE Nay, judge thou not unless thou perfect art—
All who belong unto the human species
Have made mistakes, and lead not blameless lives.
DAVE O, fie upon it! I am late again.
