Thursday, October 1, 2009

6th Doctor - Time Inc Script (iv)

Scene 31 – Time Vent

[The Valeyard and the Doctor twist wildly, turn and tumble as they freefall down the spiraling vent of crackling white energy. They are both hit by a million jolts of energy from all sides, as if they were in one of those el cheapo lightning globes. Whoops. Spoiled the magic again, didn’t I? Sorry.]

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Scene 32 – the Valeyard’s TARDIS

[The room continues to distort and the ceiling starts to cave in. Glitz is clinging to the side of the fridge as blasts out more electrical blasts. Suddenly the Bastard appears on the scanner.]

BASTARD: [dist] Glitz!

GLITZ: Bit busy at the moment!

BASTARD: [dist] There is very little time.

GLITZ: I know!

BASTARD: [dist] Around twenty-three seconds, actually.

GLITZ: [over the noise] What?

BASTARD: [dist] You must close the Vent door!

GLITZ: Is that IT?!?

BASTARD: [dist] Yes, you can save the entire universe by closing the fridge door!

[Glitz staggers across to the fridge and with much effort closes and secures the door. In a moment the room stops shaking, the lights return to normal and the shrieking maw of Hell is silenced. Glitz gets to his feet, looking around in shock.]

GLITZ: Door opens, universe ends, door closed, universe saved... What a pathetic plot resolution! Who came up with this, a backward toddle with an IQ of minus seven?!

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Scene 33 – Trial Room

[The room stops shaking. Everyone looks much relieved, although Mel is quietly crying as she is supposed to be the main audience identification figure and has only got five lines of dialogue because the writer despises the actress and everything she stands for.]

KIPPER: He only just closed that door in time!

INQUISITOR: I know.

KIPPER: A few more seconds and...

INQUISITOR: I know.

KIPPER: Well I dread to think about it.

INQUISITOR: Shut up about it, then. The Matrix must be made secure. We cannot risk such another occurrence.

KIPPER: Of course. Which occurrence is that again?

FRENCH: Oh, who cares, there’s not going to be another episode, let alone another story! Who cares about all the loose ends?

SAUNDERS: Yes, let’s all go for a tea break and contact our agents. We might be able to get a bit part in The Tripods or something...

FRENCH: Yes, good idea.

[Everyone bar Mel starts to head for the exit, dropping completely out of character as they do so.]

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Scene 34 – the Valeyard’s TARDIS

[Exhausted, Glitz leans against the console, ignoring the smoke pouring out of it in ever-increasing amounts and addresses the Bastard on the scanner.]

GLITZ: Right. That does it. It’s time for me to retire.

BASTARD: [dist] You’ve hardly begun. With the Doctor out of the way, the universe is ours! We can have our very own spin-off series and merchandise deals... you could be the main star of Dr. Glitz!

[He laughs his evil laugh.]

GLITZ: I’ll tell you what? You can have my half of the franchise as well.

BASTARD: [dist] Thank you! I accept!

GLITZ: Good. Cause all I wanna do is go home.

[The console catches fire as more and more smoke fills the room. Glitz looks around.]

GLITZ: [starting to cough] What’s happening now?

BASTARD: [dist] Oh, just a bit of time spillage. And the Valeyard’s illusions are breaking up.

[Glitz waves away some smoke as the console bursts into flames.]

GLITZ: Um, shouldn’t I get out of the Matrix!

BASTARD: [dist] Oh, don’t bother. You don’t know the way out anyway.

GLITZ: You could guide me out?

BASTARD: [dist] Oh, no, I’m rubbish with directions.

[Glitz staggers, coughing over to the screen.]

GLITZ: But this whole place is going to blow up and it’ll take me with it!

BASTARD: [dist] Oh yeah, I hadden fort of dat!

GLITZ: [coughs] You utter bastard...

BASTARD: [dist] That’s me!

[The Bastard continues to laugh even louder before the screen turns to static and the whole TARDIS control room explodes, destroying the basic set so it can never ever be used again, giving the BBC yet ANOTHER reason to give up on the show altogether.]

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Scene 35 – Trial Room

[With the muffled sound of Glitz screaming, the Matrix screen explodes outwards. We pan down to see Mel approaching the Inquisitor and the Kipper. None of them notice the ruined screen.]

MEL: I would like to be returned to my own planet and time.

INQUISITOR: Of course, child. And would like peace throughout the universe.

KIPPER: Um, where exactly IS your own planet and time?

MEL: I dunno. Check the character biography or something. Am I supposed to remember anything?

INQUISITOR: It’s totally unreasonable, isn’t it? The writer isn’t paid enough. His genius should be recognized instead of mocked by people who lack the comprehension to appreciate it.

MEL: I shall miss the Doctor very much.

INQUISITOR: Who? Oh right, the also-ran. Oh, I’m sure we all will. [prods the Kipper] Won’t we, Kipper?

KIPPER: What? Oh, yes of course.

[The Kipper picks up a piece of debris and begins to beat the Inquisitor over the head repeatedly.]

KIPPER: [punctuating every syllable with a blow] STOP – FUCKING – PRODDING – ME! I HAVE HAD ENOUGH! DO YOU HEAR ME?? E-NUFFF!!

MEL: Will you ever be able to retrieve his body?

[The Keeper kicks the Inquisitor while she’s down.]

KIPPER: Shouldn’t think so. Can’t risk re-opening the Time Vent – it might merit some kind of one-off Christmas Special or something...

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Scene 36 – Time Vent

[The Doctor and the Valeyard, falling and tumbling as before.]

KIPPER: [vo] If they want to get out, it’ll have to be through their own ingenuity and Michael Grade having a total frontal lobotomy.

MEL: [vo – overjoyed] The Doctor is still alive?

KIPPER: [vo] Yes. We’re under strict instructions not to do a death scene.

MEL: [vo] You’re not mocking my primitive origins by pretending to snatch hope from the jaws of despair, are you?

INQUISITOR: [vo] Of course not, child! They’re alive! They both are! Why should they just be dead because they’ve fallen into a funnel of energies capable of destroying the whole universe... hang on...

KIPPER: [vo] SHUT UP!

INQUISITOR: [vo] ARGHHH!

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Scene 37 – Trial Room

[As before. The Kipper is bent over the Inquisitor, pummeling her with his fists of fury.]

MEL: I didn’t know! I just assumed they were dead from the overall apocalyptic tone and sheer hatred of the author for both their characters.

KIPPER: An easy mistake to make. [wipes blood from hands] Mind you, getting out of that mess won’t be easy, since the author’s killed off most of the cast, there’s no script editor and the Governor of the BBC despises this show with a passion that rivals certain fundamentalist groups.

MEL: Oh, I’m sure Ian Levine will get another charity single together and blackmail them into making a new series! I’m sure they’ll bring back Colin Baker and JST as an American co-production in 1995! I’m sure I’m not kidding anyone! This show must die! It must!

KIPPER: If it doesn’t, Doctor Who will remain JST’s prison for eternity.

[A long pause.]

MEL: So... win-win situation, really, huh?

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Scene 38 – Corridor

[The Bastard staggers out of the hidden entrance to the Matrix, along with a cloud of smoke. The short man with the straw hat and question mark umbrella is standing, staring at the TARDIS. The Bastard laughs to himself evilly as the door closes.]

BASTARD: [exuberant] Life’s a bitch and she’s on heat! My hour has come! For I intend to create a brave new empire on an idiotic scale never before heard, and bring this awesome combo back to Gallifrey to thwart the Acton latitude of the entire Time Lord race leaving you nothing but an aximoletonal semitone of their former worthless selves. Pretty soon me and my legions of death will roar all over the planet and suck the flesh from your filthy pink little bodies! I’m going to light this cosmos up like a Christmas Tree! Prepare to suffer oppression! Prepare to suffer tyrrany! Prepare to DIE, filthy scum and do not lean out of the windows! Colonel Klink, WHERE ARE THE PRISONERS?!? [calmer] But first I must get back home in time for Mustard Gas Massacre of Little Baby Puppies at ten... Oh, what a wonderful day! GOD BLESS US, EVERY ONE!

MYSTERY MAN: I’m sure he does.

[The short man turn turns and raises his umbrella, which is actually a "Day of the Jackal" type rifle with a telephoto sight built into the question mark handle. As the happy Bastard walks away, shots ring out. Half a dozen bullets smash into the evil Time Lord’s chest. Blood spurts as the Bastard bounces off the TARDIS, hits the steps to the Trial Room and lies still – quite dead. The man blows the smoke away from the barrel and smiles, and we see that the figure in the straw hat, golfing pullover and check trousers is, in fact... the Valeyard. He grins directly at camera, smashing down the last vestiges of the Fourth Wall and begins to laugh incredibly evilly until the end credits take mercy upon us and start rolling...]

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The Doctor
COLIN BAKER

Melanie Bush
BONNIE LANGFORD

The Inquisitor
LYNDA BELLINGHAM

The Valeyard
MICHAEL JAYSTON

The Bastard
ANTHONY AINLEY

Sabalom Glitz
RAZORBACK SWORDFISH III

The Kipper of the Matrix
JAMES BRIE-STILTON-GORGONZOLA

Mister Pickwick
PATRICIA ROUTLEDGE

The Mysterious Man With The Question Mark Umbrella
SYLVESTER McCOY (body)
TONY ROBINSON (voice)

The Gaping Maw of Hell
IAN LEVINE

Creepy Severed Hands In Quicksand
GARETH JENKINS
GARETH JENKINS
CONDO MEATLOAF
GARETH JENKINS

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Title Music By
SCHIZOPHRENIC BABOON HEADBUTTING A KEYBOARD
Arranged By
DOMINIK "TONE-DEAF TALENTLESS NOISE POLLUTER" GLEN

Script Editor
AHAHHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA... YOU’RE JOKING, RIGHT?

Producer
JOHN SATAN-TURNER
(HAS NOT BEEN PERSUADED TO DO THIS)

Director
NIGELLA JAY VERKOFF II

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This script is © Eric Saward and no one with half a brain would ever want to rip off the half-arsed, uninvolved garbage he honestly assumed would be a fitting tribute to his friend and mentor Robert "Sherlock" Holmes who had the temerity to die from Hepatitis C before finishing this script and allowing Super Hack here to perpetrate this trash instead. Saward then has the overwhelming chutzpah to complain to the BBC that they didn’t make this steaming pile of offal after he sent lawyers specifically to stop it working. This man is a weak dog and deserves to be punished. If you have any concept of literary worth, ring 019929341 and demand to speak with gormless nobody who used to have that number back in 1986. Find out where he is now, go round there and kick his arse – preferably on film – and if he blames a certain and now-dead producer for this rather than taking responsibility for his own actions, you have my permission to shoot him through that mass of overfed jowls he arrogantly calls his face.

Eric Saward... you make me SICK!

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