William Shakespeare's Get Thee Back to the Future!

by Ian Doescher

  And I am getting desp’rate, for behold:

  The picture of my siblings grows more bleak,

  My brother fully disappear’d except

  The bottoms of his legs—O, tragic Dave,

  Become a pair of calves and heels and feet.

  Next shall kind Linda disappear as well,

  Then I shall go—be truly gone, indeed.

  Some new solution I must undertake.

  The words George spake ring gently on mine ears—

  These: “Neither thou nor any on this planet

  Could change my mind.” Belike this dreamer George—

  Who writeth science fiction and doth keep

  His head too often out among the spheres—

  Would answer better to another call.

  If he wants Science Fiction Theatre,

  I shall deliver thus unto his home,

  Before his face, and ringing in his ears.

  No visitor from Earth shall make George brave;

  Thus space shall come to him, my life to save.

  [Exit.

  SCENE 5

  In the town of Hill Valley.

  Enter GEORGE MCFLY.

  GEORGE Ay me, for pity! What a dream was here!

  In th’middle of the night, whilst I did sleep,

  Abed and peaceful, naught disturbing me,

  I heard a sudden shrieking in mine ears.

  ’Twas like a horrible, unearthly sound,

  More frightful than I thought was possible.

  I woke upon the instant and beheld

  A creature garb’d in yellow, with a mask

  That captur’d ev’ry terror in my brain

  As if it read my worried, anxious mind

  And did display its worst imaginings.

  Its visage was the perfect likeness of

  The aliens, which I had lately seen

  Within Fantastic Story Magazine.

  “Who are you?” I did ask, with fear and trem’bling.

  As if I had offended or upset it,

  It pointed its device toward my head

  And suddenly the noise did screech again,

  My head fill’d with the pounding, awful sound.

  At last it spoke: “Be silent, earthling weak.

  Darth Vader am I call’d, of strength and pow’r,

  An extrat’rrestrial from Vulcan come.”

  It made a sign then, with its clawlike hand,

  Which hypnotiz’d me by some sorcery,

  And bent my mind, that I might do its will.

  The strange and unrelenting force it us’d

  Surrounded me, and shall be with me always.

  I’ll not live long and prosper if I should

  Ignore the message it hath brought to me.

  Enter MARTY MCFLY.

  A-ha! Good Marty, I must tell him all,

  For he hath been mine only friend of late.

  Ho, Marty!

  MARTY —George, why comest thou in haste?

  Thou wert not there in school. Where hast thou been?

  How hast thou spent the first hours of the day?

  GEORGE I slept too long, and I shall tell thee why.

  Yet first, I shall confess: I need thy help.

  Lorraine I must invite unto the dance,

  Yet do not have the wisdom or the words

  To see it through.

  MARTY —Be patient, I shall help.

  She is just yonder, there in Lou’s Café.

  What was the cause of this most sudden change?

  For yesterday, thou wert of rigid mind,

  As constant as the northern star, indeed.

  GEORGE The tale I’ll tell, though thou mayst not believe:

  Last night hath come Darth Vader to my house

  From planet Vulcan. He hath order’d me

  To take Lorraine unto this weekend’s dance

  Or he would swiftly melt my guiltless brain.

  MARTY Thy tale of melting brains we’ll not divulge,

  For though I do believe, it may sound strange

  To others less supportive than myself.

  GEORGE In sooth, I would not tell another soul.

  [They approach Lou’s Café.

  MARTY There, just inside, she waiteth for thee, George.

  Be bold, walk in, and make thine invitation.

  GEORGE Yet I have not the words to make it so.

  MARTY Say anything that cometh to thy mind—

  The world is full of guys. Be thou a man.

  Whatever is most natural to thee,

  Which springeth first unto thy fertile mind.

  GEORGE ’Tis winter in my brain, for nothing comes.

  MARTY By Jove, it is a wonder I was born!

  GEORGE What?

  MARTY —Nothing, nothing, nay. Pray, tell her this:

  Say fate hath knit thy twofold souls as one,

  And destiny hath brought thee both together.

  [George pulls out a pencil and paper.

  Speak softly to her tender ears that she

  Hath beauty more than any other girl—

  That thou couldst search the world entire in vain

  And ne’er wouldst find her match upon the Earth.

  Such words fall gently on romantic ears.

  Art thou turn’d scribe, that thou wouldst write this down?

  GEORGE Thou art well-vers’d in love’s confusing syntax—

  The Cyrano unto my Neuvillette.

  MARTY The time hath come. Gird up thy loins and speak.

  They walk into Lou’s Café. Enter LOU CARUTHERS, GOLDIE WILSON, LORRAINE BAINES with her FRIENDS, and many other YOUTH OF HILL VALLEY.

  GEORGE Lou, give me milk—and make it chocolate!

  [A glass slides down the bar to George, who drinks deeply.

  [Aside:] Dutch courage will give me the strength I need—

  Dutch chocolate hath ne’er led me astray.

  [To Lorraine:] Lorraine, my density has brought me here.

  LORRAINE Excuse me?

  GEORGE —Pardon, this I meant to say…

  LORRAINE Do I not know thee somehow? Tell me true.

  GEORGE Indeed, dear lass, my name is George McFly!

  I am thy density…er, destiny.

  There ne’er was one so dense for thee as I,

  Fill’d so completely with a love as mine

  And destin’d, thereupon, for dense romance.

  Enter BIFF TANNEN, SKINHEAD, 3-D, and MATCH, aside.

  LORRAINE Thy words are like a puzzle for the ear,

  Which, kindly spoken, stupefy the mind.

  So sweet thou art, if somewhat mystifying.

  BIFF McFly!

  MARTY [aside:] —Fie, hatred comes to hinder love,

  As if the minotaur held Cupid’s bow.

  BIFF Methought I said thou ne’er shouldst hither come,

  Yet thou hast giv’n no heed to warnings fair.

  This time, thy grave mistake shall have a cost—

  Shall it be coin or flesh? We’ll see anon.

  How many ducats dost thou carry, hmm?

  GEORGE How much dost thou desire, O massive Biff?

  Whate’er thou wishest shall be my command.

  [Biff approaches George and is tripped by Marty.

  MARTY [aside:] He falls, yet what shall now on me befall?

  [Biff rises, towering over Marty.

  BIFF Thou puny, craven, dismal-dreaming imp!

  This is the opportunity I’ve sought.

  Wilt thou take on the Biff? Now, feel my pow’r—

  MARTY Yet, Biff, what is that yon, outside the window?

  [Biff looks and Marty hits him. Marty flees, knocking over Skinhead, 3-D, and Match.

  SKINHEAD Alack!

  3-D —Undone by such a one?

  MATCH —We fall!

  LORRAINE ’Tis Calvin Klein! By Jove, a perfect dream.

  [The scene moves outside, as Biff begins chasing after Marty through Hill Valley.

  MARTY Too long I cannot rel
ish victory;

  ’Tis certain trouble follows me anon.

  Fly, feet, and bear me hence away from Biff,

  Before I face the terror of his wrath.

  From Lou’s Café I flee to save myself,

  No more belike to darken these two doors.

  Across the street, I see my greatest hope—

  A boy doth hold a wooden scooter toy,

  Which, by a brief amendment, may suffice.

  The youth doth fuss at me, an ’twere I took

  His childhood whole e’en as I take his toy.

  Fear not, O lad; I’ll render it again,

  That thou once more may ride Hill Valley’s roads.

  First, though, to make the scooter fit for me—

  Its top remov’d, it doth become a skateboard

  Wherewith I shall defeat the coming threat.

  “Thou brokest it,” the whining schoolboy says,

  Yet as I speed away his tone doth change:

  “Look how he flieth on my scooterboard!”

  Biff and his thugs pursue me on their feet—

  They run across the courtyard while I’m bound

  To use the sidewalk, an I would have wheels.

  An old familiar trick I’ll ply on them—

  Hold fast unto this truck, and switch direction

  Whilst their momentum carries them too far.

  Too nearly miss’d—yea, far too close for comfort.

  ’Twas just in time (a simple, common phrase

  That I, ’til recently, employ’d sans thought).

  Now do I ride behind this helpful truck,

  A subtle and unask’d-for hitchhiker,

  As Biff and his three goons run to their car—

  A vehicle I can no wise outrun.

  Yet for a moment, Marty, let thyself

  Enjoy the triumph of this fleeting moment.

  See there, the youth who watch in Lou’s Café,

  Their mouths agape at my most daring flight.

  I almost can their exclamations hear—

  “What is it that the lad doth ride upon?”

  “Methinks it is a wooden board, with wheels!”

  Perhaps Lorraine, besotted by romance,

  Declareth, “Lo, he is the stuff of dreams”—

  A most disturbing thought, my mother thus.

  Pray focus, for the rogues do come apace,

  They shout like banshees, hungry for revenge,

  Keen to protect their bully reputations,

  Save face when challeng’d by a naughty sleight.

  Biff piloteth the vehicle across

  The courtyard, rolling o’er the town green’s grass—

  This foolish action is pure recklessness.

  Mayhap I’ve underestimated them,

  And did not sense the drama of the scene.

  They follow close behind, approaching me;

  A harmless scuffle twixt two high school lads

  Hath turn’d into a chase most dangerous.

  Although Biff’s friends still cackle, rife with glee,

  Biff hath another matter on his mind,

  The heart of which shines forth from his dark eyes

  An ’twere the reddish glow of hell’s own heart.

  Biff’s ire transformeth to intent to kill.

  The lads would brush my legs with their fast car—

  I dodge aside, and now they strike the truck.

  Another car is in the road ahead,

  Which I shall knock, should I maintain my course.

  Release the truck, yet still I roll too fast—

  The newfound skateboard jumpeth in the air

  As I attempt to keep my balance on’t.

  Too fast, too fast! I plunge toward a couple—

  A man and woman, caught within my path.

  We three collide—like ring around the rosie,

  The ashes fly and then we all fall down.

  I rise again, yet Biff is closer still—

  No hope remains that I may him outpace.

  The car doth strike me, pushing me along.

  Biff’s friends hurl bottles at me, like a target;

  ’Tis lucky each one is a dreadful aim.

  Biff speaketh: “I shall ram the useless imp.”

  In front of me a dump truck comes in view—

  Mine end is near, yet one maneuver may

  Keep this from being Marty’s tragic end.

  I jump aboard the car, toward its rear,

  My trusty skateboard following beneath.

  Biff and his hoodlums look behind in awe;

  They’re dumbstruck, seeing not what they shall hit.

  They shout, then strike the truck fill’d with manure,

  Which falleth o’er them an ’twere graveyard dirt.

  The owner of the scooter, which now smoketh,

  Looks on with awe. Good lad, thou hast my thanks!

  Yet now I’ll leave, ere further trouble comes.

  [Exit Marty.

  FRIEND 1 [to Lorraine:] Whence cometh this amazing, handsome lad?

  If thou dost know, I prithee speak, Lorraine!

  FRIEND 2 Where doth he live, or is he come from heav’n?

  We must, in some way, learn whence he arriv’d.

  LORRAINE I do not know, yet I shall learn anon.

  The seed that first was planted in my home,

  Wherein he first took root within my heart,

  Hath budded into something greater yet—

  A growth unstoppable, with mighty trunk,

  A tree that with affection bursteth forth,

  Each blossom telling of my love for him,

  With branches reaching new heights ev’ry day.

  I shall discover where this hardy stalk

  Doth hath foundation, else my fondest hopes

  Shall be chopp’d down with axe unkind and swift.

  [Exeunt Lorraine and her friends.

  BIFF O, hear ye now the words I hereby swear:

  I’ll be reveng’d on him for this affair.

  [Exeunt.

  SCENE 1

  At Doc Brown’s house.

  Enter DOCTOR EMMETT BROWN, watching Marty’s video on his television.

  DOC Reviewing this recording of the night

  That Marty brought, from nineteen eighty-five,

  I see myself caught under some distress,

  Bewailing some unfortunate event,

  And peradventure fearing for my life.

  “My God. They found me. How, I do not know,

  And yet ’tis clear they found me nonetheless.”

  Thus say I, then exclaim, “Run, Marty, run!”

  What people have instill’d in me such fear?

  From whom escape? I wonder what I mean.

  This wondering, however—it must cease.

  To know the future is too dangerous,

  Too powerful a thing for mortal minds.

  Methinks upon the tale of poor Cassandra.

  She was a prophet—knowing what would come,

  Yet she was doom’d to never be believ’d.

  Her prophecies like noise fell on the ears

  Of any who would hear her solemn words,

  An ’twere a clanging symbol or a gong

  To be ignor’d instead of being heeded.

  The future is not ours to know, indeed,

  For if we knew the future, we would live

  To either bring it to fruition or

  Mayhap to ’scape what it doth hold for us.

  In either instance, we upset the Fates,

  The fateful knitters of our future days,

  The sisters who do hold the threads of life

  And make determination o’er its length.

  Sweet Clotho spins the fabric of our days,

  While wise Lachesis doth allot the yarn.

  To finish, Atropos doth cut the cord

  As death doth shuffle off our mortal coil.

  Let us not seek to know the future, nay;

  ’Tis kept by tho
se more powerful than we.

  Enter MARTY MCFLY, seeing DOC.

  MARTY Doc?

  DOC —Marty! I did not hear thee arrive.

  A fascinating implement, this thing

  Which captures video to watch again.

  MARTY Pray, hear me, Doc. There’s something I must say

  About the night we two produc’d that tape.

  DOC Nay, Marty, tell me naught. No man should know

  Too much about his final destiny.

  MARTY Thou dost not understand.

  DOC —I do, indeed.

  An I should know too much of what will come,

  Mine own existence could endanger’d be—

  Just as thou hast endanger’d thine. Dost see?

  MARTY Thou hast it right.

  DOC —Come, now, and see my plan,

  Wherewith I’ll get thee hence unto thy home.

  [Doc shows Marty a detailed model of Hill Valley.

  This crude and feeble model please forgive—

  And let me, cipher to this great accompt,

  On thine imaginary forces work.

  Suppose within the cutouts of these walls

  Are now confin’d Hill Valley’s mighty town,

  Whose high clock tower and the road below

  Create the centerpiece of our design.

  Piece out our imperfections with thy thoughts;

  Into a thousand parts divide each inch,

  And make imaginary structures there;

  Think when we talk of buildings, that thou seest them

  Printing their proud foundations in the earth;

  For ’tis thy thoughts that now must deck our plans,

  Though I had not the time to build to scale

  Or make it truer by the splash of paint.

  MARTY ’Tis well. It shall suffice.

  DOC —My gratitude.

  We shall run cord of strength industrial

  From here—the very height of our clock tower—

  Below, suspending it just o’er the street,

  Betwixt the lampposts that are fixèd there.

  Meanwhile, the vehicle hath been enhanc’d

  With this long pole and hook, which do connect

  Directly to the flux capacitor.

  Upon the instant I have calculated,

  Thou shalt begin to drive the car from there—

  A certain distance farther down the road—

  Whilst steering it directly t’ward the cable

  And making thine acceleration to

  Precisely eighty-eight in miles per hour.

  According to the pamphlet thou hast brought,

  Upon the stroke of ten oh four at night,

  Come Saturday this week, a lightning bolt

  Shall strike the tower. Electricity

  Will travel through the cable, bound to strike

  The hook just as thou drivest it below.