The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Original Radio Scripts

by Douglas Adams

  FORD: Perhaps it feels good about being a rock.

  ARTHUR: No, I mean it’s vibrating. As if it’s got an engine in it.

  FORD: You’re crazy. A rock with an engine in it?

  ARTHUR: Who would want a motorised rock?

  FORD: Another motorised rock?

  ARTHUR: Look! It’s cracking! There’s a hatchway opening underneath it!

  FORD: Wow, this is one strange rock.

  ARTHUR: Look at the light! Streaming out! Did you ever see anything like that before?

  FORD: Not when I’ve been in a legal state of mind.

  ARTHUR: (Breathless with excitement, as if he’s just seen the box office returns on ‘Close Encounters of the Third Kind’)

  Look! A figure silhouetted against the light . . . coming down the ramp . . . walking towards us!

  FORD: Staggering towards us . . .

  ARTHUR: It’s hard to see . . . so much light!

  FORD: He’s in a bad way.

  ARTHUR: He’s stumbling towards a crack in the ground. Look, he’s going to fall!

  FORD: Look out!

  ZAPHOD: (For it is he) Ahhhh!

  (Fade and slight echo as he falls into the fissure)

  FORD: Zarquon! You know who I think that is?

  ARTHUR: The faces looked familiar . . .

  FORD: Zaphod? What’s he doing coming out of a rock?

  FORD: Who says he needs a reason? Come on, we’ve got to help him!

  ARTHUR: (Calling) Zaphod!

  ZAPHOD: Gnnnnhhh . . .

  ARTHUR: Zaphod, you seem to have fallen down a thirty foot hole.

  FORD: I think he knows that.

  ARTHUR: Is he all right?

  FORD: What does it look like? Zaphod . . .

  ZAPHOD: Hhhhhrrrrrrr.

  FORD: Zaphod, what happened to you?

  ZAPHOD: (Very slurred) My heads hurt . . .

  FORD: Can you tell me what happened?

  ZAPHOD: They took me to the Frogstar . . .

  FORD: (Horrified) The Frogstar!

  ARTHUR: What’s the Frogstar?

  FORD: Shhh.

  ZAPHOD: I’ve been in the Total Perspective Vortex . . .

  FORD: (Very low) Oh no . . .

  ARTHUR: What’s the Total . . .?

  FORD: Shh.

  ZAPHOD: Yes . . . Ford, I’m very ill . . .

  FORD: If you’ve been in that thing . . .

  ZAPHOD: Very ill. Very very ill.

  ARTHUR: What’s the Vortex?

  FORD: The Vortex . . . it’s the worst thing that can happen to anybody.

  ZAPHOD: Oh no . . . the Vortex was OK, but . . . afterwards!

  FORD: Afterwards? After the Vortex?

  ZAPHOD: Well I had to celebrate didn’t I? I’ve been drunk for a week. My heads are killing me. Help me up, will you?

  (He passes out)

  F/X: HEART OF GOLD BACKGROUND

  EDDIE: Hi there guys. This is Eddie your shipboard computer welcoming you back on board the starship Heart of Gold. We are currently heading away from planet Earth on Improbability Drive, and all systems are just tickitiboo. (Sings) ‘Here we are again.’

  ZAPHOD: Well guys you must be so amazingly glad to see me you can’t even find words to tell me what a cool frood I am.

  ARTHUR: What a what?

  ZAPHOD: I know how you feel. I am so great I get tongue-tied talking to myself. Hey, it’s good to see you Ford. And Monkeyman.

  ARTHUR: Listen, I come from an ancient and distinguished race . . .

  FORD: Of hairdressers.

  ARTHUR: Thank you Ford.

  FORD: Hey Zaphod. Put it there, there . . .

  ZAPHOD: Hey Ford . . . put it there . . . and there . . . and there . . . and there . . . Wooah.

  FORD: Zaphod, how did you escape from the Haggunenon?

  ZAPHOD: Simple. I got lucky.

  ARTHUR: And how did you get this ship back?

  ZAPHOD: I got lucky.

  FORD: And how did you find us?

  ZAPHOD: I got your towel.

  FORD: What?

  ZAPHOD: Mailed by meteorite. Hey, that was a really neat trick, how did you do it?

  ARTHUR: Do what?

  ZAPHOD: Get the towel fossilized so when the planet blows up two million years later it gets hurled off into space and picked up by the Improbability Drive?

  FORD: Hey?

  ZAPHOD: How did you work it all out.

  ARTHUR: We didn’t. I just dropped the towel.

  ZAPHOD: So you got lucky too. That’s cool. We’re going to need a lot of luck where we’re going next.

  ARTHUR: Where’s that?

  ZAPHOD: I’ll tell you when you’ve asked me what happened on the Frogstar.

  ARTHUR: What’s the Frogstar?

  ZAPHOD: I thought you’d never ask.

  GRAMS: NARRATOR BACKGROUND

  NARRATOR: Many stories are told of Zaphod Beeblebrox’s journey to the Frogstar. 10% of them are 95% true, 14% of them are 65% true, 35% of them are only 5% true, and all the rest of them are . . . told by Zaphod Beeblebrox. Only one wholly accurate account exists, and that is locked in a trunk in the attic of Zaphod’s favourite mother, Mrs Alice Beeblebrox of 10 to the 8th Astral Crescent Zoofroozelchester, Betelgeuse Five.

  Though countless people have tried cajolery, bribery or threats to get hold of it she has carefully guarded it from all eyes for many years, waiting for what she calls ‘the right price’. But one fairly well documented episode is referred to by Beeblebroxologists as the ‘Hey Roosta, I’ve just had this really hoopy idea’ incident.

  F/X: FLYING BUILDING BACKGROUND

  ZAPHOD: Hey Roosta, I’ve just had this really hoopy idea. We’re in this wrecked building, right?

  ROOSTA: Right.

  ZAPHOD: And the building’s in this really amazing force bubble, right?

  ROOSTA: Right.

  ZAPHOD: And the force bubble’s flying through interstellar space, right?

  ROOSTA: Right.

  ZAPHOD: And there are seven Frogstar fighters towing us at about hyperspeed twelve to the Frogstar, right?

  ROOSTA: It had better be a good idea, Beeblebrox.

  ZAPHOD: It’s a smash. You want to hear it?

  ROOSTA: OK.

  ZAPHOD: Let’s go to a discotheque.

  (Pause)

  ROOSTA: Are you crazy?

  ZAPHOD: What’s the matter, don’t you like discotheques? Look, I got this free invite some cat was giving out in the street. Here it is.

  ROOSTA: Ah, I’m with you Beeblebrox. You reckon we could slide this plastic invite into a door lock, break out of this building, climb into one of the Frogstar fighters, and then maybe overpower all the guards with this terrifying small plastic card.

  ZAPHOD: Look at the card will you?

  ROOSTA: ‘Worm Hole Disco. Loudest Noise on Betelgeuse. Free Body Debit for One Night Only’. What’s a body debit?

  ZAPHOD: You’ve been roughing it too long Roosta, you missed out on progressive consumerism. Look, an old style credit card, you press the panel, it makes an instant debit on your bank account, and an instant credit to the shop’s account right?

  ROOSTA: I prefer hard cash. If you can’t scratch a window with it I don’t accept it.

  ZAPHOD: Yeah, but get this. Body debit means you press this card, and it debits all your molecules from where you’re standing – and your body goes into credit somewhere else.

  ROOSTA: In the Disco!

  ZAPHOD: Right.

  ROOSTA: Escape! It had better be a good disco.

  ZAPHOD: If it was a good disco, they wouldn’t have to give away free Body Debit cards. Right Roosta, we’re going to groove our way out of here.

  F/X: BODY DEBIT EFFECT

  GRAMS: SENSATIONALLY LOUD ROCK MUSIC. WE CAN HARDLY DISTINGUISH WHAT IT IS, THE DISTORTION LEVELS ARE SO HIGH WE GRADUALLY MAKE OUT THE SOUNDS OF ZAPHOD AND ROOSTA’S VOICES

  ZAPHOD: We did it.

  ROOSTA: What did you say?

  ZAPHOD: I said we did it!
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  ROOSTA: What did you say?

  ZAPHOD: What?

  ROOSTA: I said what did you say?

  ZAPHOD: I can’t hear.

  ROOSTA: What?

  ZAPHOD: What?

  ROOSTA: What?

  ZAPHOD: What?

  ROBOT GIRL: Hi there baby, you want to dance?

  ZAPHOD: No, do I look like I want to dance?

  ROBOT GIRL: You look like it to me.

  ZAPHOD: I must have got my wrong body on.

  ROBOT GIRL: Suit yourself . . .

  (Then ad libs from Robot Girls) . . .

  ROBOT GIRLS: Hi, there baby . . . do you want to dance? Etc.

  ROOSTA: Beeblebrox, all these dancers – they’re robots!

  ZAPHOD: They’re just to make the place look crowded, give it some atmosphere.

  ROOSTA: But there aren’t any real people here at all.

  ZAPHOD: So what’s new?

  ROOSTA: Uuggh!

  ZAPHOD: What’s up?

  ROOSTA: I just walked past this nozzle in the wall. It’s spraying the smell of hot sweat over everything.

  ZAPHOD: OK, let’s get out of here. Can you see a door?

  ROOSTA: Yeah, it’s right in the far corner.

  ZAPHOD: Let’s go.

  ROBOT 2: You cannot go! You must have a good time!

  ZAPHOD: I’m trying to have a good time, I’m trying to go!

  ROBOT 2: Turn up the music!

  F/X: THE MUSIC UNBELIEVABLY GETS LOUDER

  ROOSTA: Aaaaaaaaghh!

  ROBOT 2:

  You must have a good time!

  ROBOT 3: You must dance!

  ROBOT 2: Do you come here often?

  (Zaphod and Roosta are reduced to strangulated cries for help . . .)

  ROBOT GIRLS: Dance! Dance! Dance!

  ROBOT 2: They are passing out! Spray them with adrenalin! Make the lights flash faster!

  ZAPHOD: Let’s go!

  F/X: DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES RAPIDLY BEHIND THEM. MUSIC WINDS DOWN

  F/X: BODY DEBIT EFFECT

  ROBOT GIRLS: Organic lifeforms have no sense of fun.

  F/X: ROBOTS ALL COLLAPSE IN A HEAP

  ZAPHOD: (Gasps) That must be the worst good time I ever had. Still, we’re free.

  FPRO: Ah, there you are, splendid.

  ZAPHOD: You! Hey man how did you get to be here?

  FPRO: Me? I came the simple way. Down the stairs.

  ZAPHOD: Down the stairs? To Ursa Minor? Hey, you must be unbelievably fit.

  FPRO: Ah, I’m afraid you’re not on Ursa Minor. We didn’t let you out of the building. This has all been a little in flight entertainment.

  ZAPHOD: You call that entertainment?

  FPRO: Not for you, for me. Well, I’m afraid I must leave you now.

  ZAPHOD: Ah. And just when I was really getting to dislike you.

  FPRO: I feel very privileged to have been able to bring a little unnecessary unpleasantness into your life, Mr Beeblebrox sir. I wonder if you’d like to sign an autograph for me.

  ZAPHOD: An autograph? You must be several light years removed from your skull baby.

  FPRO: I have a photo of you here. If you could just see your way to . . .

  ZAPHOD: Ah come on, go suck a neutron star will you? Hey, that’s quite a nice pic. Let’s see it. OK, look ‘With deep anger and resentment, Zaphod Beeblebrox.’ OK?

  FPRO: Thank you. It’s not for my daughter you understand, it’s for me. I have to put it in the Frogstar record office attached to a statement saying that you went into the Vortex of your own free will.

  ZAPHOD: Baby, I think there’s some problem with your respiration.

  FPRO: Oh? What?

  ZAPHOD: You’re breathing.

  FPRO: That’s not a problem.

  ZAPHOD: It is from where I’m standing. Here, let me tie a knot in your neck.

  FPRO: (Gasping) If you try and strangle me Beeblebrox you’ll regret it . . .

  ZAPHOD: Yeah, not half as much as you will.

  FPRO: Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

  F/X: DEMAT ZING

  ZAPHOD: Owww! Ffff . . . Roosta, did you see that? The guy vanished whilst I was . . . ahhh! I think I’ve broken my thumb on my other thumb . . . Roosta? Roosta? Where are you?

  GARGRAVARR: (Deep ethereal echoing voice that seems insubstantial somehow, it fades periodically)

  Beeblebrox, you are on your own now. You have arrived on the Frogstar.

  ZAPHOD: Hey, what? Who are you?

  GARGRAVARR: I am Gargravarr. I am the Custodian of the Total Perspective Vortex.

  ZAPHOD: Oh, er, hi.

  GARGRAVARR: (Gravely) Hello.

  ZAPHOD: Hey, er, why can’t I see you? Why aren’t you here?

  GARGRAVARR: I am here. My body wanted to come, but it’s a bit busy at the moment. Things to do, people to see. You know how it is with bodies.

  ZAPHOD: I thought I did.

  GARGRAVARR: I hope it’s gone in for surgery. The way it’s been living recently it must be on its last elbows.

  ZAPHOD: Elbows? You mean its last legs?

  GARGRAVARR: I know what I mean.

  ZAPHOD: Hey, wild.

  GARGRAVARR: So you are to be put into the Vortex, yes?

  ZAPHOD: Er, well, this cat’s in no hurry you know. I can just slouch about, take in a look at the local scenery, you know.

  GARGRAVARR: Have you seen the local scenery?

  ZAPHOD: Er, no.

  F/X: DOOR HUMS OPEN. MOURNFUL WAIL OF DISMAL WIND

  ZAPHOD: Ah. OK, well I’ll just slouch about then.

  GARGRAVARR: No. The Vortex is ready for you now. You must come. Follow me.

  ZAPHOD: Er, yeah – how am I meant to do that?

  GARGRAVARR: I’ll hum for you. Follow the humming.

  ZAPHOD: OK. Anything for a weird life.

  GRAMS: NARRATOR BACKGROUND

  NARRATOR: The Universe, as has been observed before, is an unsettlingly big place, a fact which for the sake of a quiet life, most people tend to ignore. Many would happily move to somewhere rather smaller of their own devising, and this is what most beings in fact do.

  For instance, in one corner of the Eastern Galactic Arm lies the great forest planet Oglaroon, the entire ‘intelligent’ population of which lives permanently in one fairly small and crowded nut tree. In which tree they are born, live, fall in love, carve tiny speculative articles in the bark on the meaning of life, the futility of death and the importance of birth control, fight a few very minor wars, and eventually die strapped to the underside of some of the less accessible outer branches.

  In fact the only Oglaroonians who ever leave their tree at all are those who are hurled out for the heinous crime of wondering whether any of the other trees might be capable of supporting life at all, or indeed be anything other than illusions brought on by eating too many Oglanuts.

  Exotic though this behaviour may seem, there is no life form in the Galaxy not in some way guilty of the same thing, which is why the Total Perspective Vortex is as horrific as it undoubtedly is. For when you are put in the Vortex you are given just one momentary glimpse of the size of the entire unimaginable infinity of Creation along with a tiny little marker saying ‘You are here’.

  F/X: BACKGROUND. THE MOURNFUL WAILING OF THE WIND (WIND EFFECT SLOWED DOWN MIGHT GIVE US WHAT WE NEED) GARGRAVARR HUMMING A MOURNFUL LITTLE WALTZ. ALMOST INSTANTLY THE SCENE STARTS THERE IS A TERRIBLE CRY OF AGONY IN THE DISTANCE, MUFFLED AND DISTORTED, BUT STILL LOUD ENOUGH TO TERRIFY THE WITS OUT OF ANYBODY. ZAPHOD WALKING

  ZAPHOD: (Stops walking) Hey man, what was that?

  GARGRAVARR: (Stops humming) A man being put in the Vortex I’m afraid. We’re very close to it now.

  ZAPHOD: Hey, it sounds really bad. Couldn’t we maybe go to a party or something for a while, think it over?

  GARGRAVARR: For all I know I’m probably at one. My body that is . It goes to a lot of parties without me. Says I only get in the way. Hey ho.

  ZAPHOD: I can see why it wouldn’t want to come her
e. This place is the dismallest. Looks like a bomb’s hit it you know.

  GARGRAVARR: Several have. It’s a very unpopular place. The Vortex is in the heavy steel bunker ahead of you.

  F/X: ANOTHER HOWL OF AGONY

  ZAPHOD: The Universe does that to a guy?

  GARGRAVARR: The whole infinite Universe. The infinite suns, the infinite distances between them, and yourself an invisible dot on an invisible dot, infinitely small.

  ZAPHOD: Hey, I’m Zaphod Beeblebrox man, you know.

  GARGRAVARR: That is precisely the point.

  F/X: DOOR HUMS OPEN

  GARGRAVARR: Enter.

  ZAPHOD: Hey, what, now?

  GARGRAVARR: Now.

  ZAPHOD: It doesn’t look like any kind of Vortex to me.

  GARGRAVARR: It isn’t. It’s just the lift. Enter.

  F/X: HE ENTERS: DOOR CLOSES. IT STARTS TO DESCEND

  ZAPHOD: I got to get myself in the right frame of mind for this.

  GARGRAVARR: There is no right frame of mind.

  ZAPHOD: You really know how to make a guy feel inadequate.

  GARGRAVARR: I don’t. The Vortex does.

  F/X: LIFT REACHES BOTTOM. THE DOORS OPEN, BACKGROUND NOISE OF HEAVY HUMMING NOISES AND SWIRLS ETC.

  GARGRAVARR: There. The Vortex. The Total Perspective Vortex. Enter Beeblebrox. Enter the Vortex.

  ZAPHOD: OK, OK.

  F/X: VORTEX STARTING TO OPERATE

  GRAMS: NARRATOR BACKGROUND

  NARRATOR: The Vortex derives its picture of the whole Universe on the principle of extrapolated matter analyses.

  To explain – since every piece of matter in the Universe is in some way affected by every other piece of matter in the Universe, it is in theory possible to extrapolate the whole of Creation, every Galaxy, every sun, every planet, their orbits, their composition, and their economic and social history from, say, one small piece of fairy cake. The Man who invented the Total Perspective Vortex did so basically in order to annoy his wife.

  Trin Tragula, for that was his name, was a dreamer, a speculative thinker, or as his wife would have it, an idiot.

  And she would nag him incessantly about the utterly inordinate amount of time he would spend staring out into space, or mulling over the mechanics of safety pins, or doing spectrographic analyses of pieces of fairy cake. ‘Have some sense of proportion’ she would say thirty eight times a day.