Wednesday, 7 January 2009

The Olde Ande Epice Talee Ofe Ae Tene-Quide Notee


[Two posh people, SIR CHAS and SIR DAVE are standing outside the bank, with top hats, monacles, slaves on chains behind them, the works]

SIR CHAS: What ho, my good man, Sir Dave. A fine morn

SIR DAVE: Hip hip tally buddy-buddy. I made several billion pounds this morning from my immoral and illegal activities financing drug running in Columbia

SIR CHAS: Oh splendid. Drug running? I love the races.

SIR DAVE: And anyway, this spiffing foreign chap gave me this pile of ten pound notes. [He waves it about] See, all fresh and new.

[A shopper walks past. CHAS and DAVE leap back in disgust]

BOTH: Ew, ew, ew, ew!

SIR CHAS: Oh, I do say Dave. That foul peasant has corrupted your nice new money with his stinking air

SIR DAVE: [Holding the top note out gingerly] Ew, ew, ew! Away with you! [He scrunches it up and throws it away] C-C-Chas, there's all these poor people!

[They move closer together in fear, and hug]

SIR CHAS: Go away the lot of you and ask your fathers for a job. Layabouts!

[The camera settles on the note, lying forlorn on the floor. A heartbeating pulse starts up]


[We see from the POV of the note, the camera lens tinted green. It lifts off the floor and slowly moves past and around shoppers, until it gets to the door of a bar…]


[A lone man, JIM, is standing by the bar. Nearby is a table full of businessmen (STEWART, JAMES and PHIL), all bar one (KEVIN) wearing eyepatches, pirate hats and a yellow rubber duck glued to their shoulder].

KEVIN: Right then guys. The first order of the day is the Anderson deal. I suggest that we…

STEWART: Aaaar, cut out their filthy hearts!


KEVIN: [Making a note of this] Right…. And the McPhippen report?

PHIL: We swing across their starboard bow and take them over. I'm a pirate!


STEWART: Har de har!

KEVIN: [Writing] Excellent. Now, for next year's strategy…

PHIL: Ooh arrr, I'm a pirate!

STEWART: A black sea dog!


KEVIN: Black…. Dogs…. Great! Very productive meeting - urk - [He topples forward]

STEWART: [Waving a bloodied cutlass] I killed him!

PHIL: Cos…?

STEWART: I'm a pirate!


[The view switches suddenly to the all-green one as heartbeat pulses fill the air again. It veers towards the business men, then swerves suddenly to the man at the bar, JIM, and runs straight into him]

[Normal view again]

JIM: Ow, what the? [He looks at his hand. In it is a ten pound note] Cor, where did that come from? Oh, the possibilities of this new found wealth [without pausing] four pints please, barkeep.

BARKEEPER: [Shaking his pale face] No! That's black magic that is! Get out, get out!


JIM: All right, all right. [He walks out the door. The barkeeper's wife enters with a tray of food. ]

WIFE: Here's your meal, love.

BARKEEPER: [Shaking his pale face] No! That's black magic that is! Get out, get out!



[JIM is walking along, when he comes to a street beggar]

BEGGAR: Sir, give a poor man some money. I need a DVD desperately

JIM: You mean food, right?

BEGGAR: Yes, DVD. Yum. [He takes out a DVD. It has a chunk taken out of it]

JIM: You… can eat proper food too, you know that, right? [He is greeted by a blank stare, and so produces an apple] Mmm, food

BEGGAR: [Curiously taking the apple] It is not gold nor is it flat, yet it is food?

[JIM nods]


[The BEGGAR takes out a large axe and attacks JIM. The note flies into the air and is blown away…]


[Two men (BARRY and NORMAN) in suspicious suits are busy examining a briefcase, obviously full of money. Around 4 metres away is a nervous man (SNITCH), arms half in the air]

SNITCH: Please guys, you've got the money. Now let her go!

NORMAN: [Counting the money in the briefcase] Ninety nine thousand, nine hundred and eighty pounds… ninety nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety pounds… oh

BARRY: Oh dear Snitch. Ten pounds short. And only… [He checks his watch] one minute to go. So sorry.

SNITCH: What the… but you've got ninety nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety pounds. What difference does ten quid make?

NORMAN: Think of the Mars Bars!

BARRY: Yeah [taking out a calculator] That's like, twenty king-sized Mars Bars we'd be down. Sorry Snitch, all the money, or… [He makes shooting motions with his fingers]

SNITCH: [Hands outstretched] Hey hey hey… come on… have pity. Ten measly quid. Give me a few more hours…

NORMAN: We want our Mars Bars now!

BARRY: Yeah. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven…

SNITCH: But how can I possibly find ten quid in ten seconds? I… [The ten pound note flutters into his hand] Yay! [It blows away again] Boo!

[The camera pans away again as it follows the note]

BARRY: [OOV] Zero! [There are lots of gunshots]


[The note blows in through an open window and lands on a table where a mysterious cigarette smoking man (CSM) is seated. He picks the note up and examines it]

CSM: Interesting… of course…

[Another man, MOULDY, sits down opposite him]

MOULDY: You wanted to speak to me, mysterious government superior with his own hidden agenda?

CSM: Where? Where? Oh, me. Yes, sorry Mouldy. I'm out of practice. [He holds up the ten pound note] An ordinary ten pound note, right?


CSM: Well, what if I do this! [He sets fire to it, then drops it in an ash tray. Both stare at it burn] Ah, actually yes, that is an ordinary ten pound note. Crap. [He attempts to put the fire out with a cup of coffee] Sorry, I mean look at this. An ordinary cell phone, right? [He holds up a phone]


CSM: Well, how about NOW! [Suddenly and violently he smashes it against the wall screaming a battle cry. Pause] Ah, yes. That too… erm... this is embarrassing.


CSM: I'm your father!


CSM: I run the government and force them to do experiments on orphans and minor celebrities!


CSM: I like ballroom dancing


CSM: So… sorry. Look - aliens!

[MOULDY turns around. The café has been invaded by large inflatable aliens that look like they're being thrown in through the windows. A WOMAN screams]

WOMAN: Help, insanely realistic aliens have come to suck our hair dry!

CSM: [Holding an alien to his head and 'struggling'] No Mouldy, save yourself… my hair... noooooo

[Everything goes in slow motion, until suddenly from behind the camera, a man (BOB) in a directors t-shirt stalks on angrily]

BOB: Cut! CUT! Stop it! [The 'action' slows down as everyone turns to look at him. Several inflatable aliens are dropped] No, sorry, this is utterly, utterly pathetic…stop filming me! [He violently whacks the camera. Shot shifts to another angle]

CSM: Wasn't that good enough Bob? We can try again.

BOB: [Shaking his head] No, this production is irredeemable. Inflatable f-ing aliens? This is supposed to be a serious film about such dull subjects as youth issues, not Attack of the Killer Tomatoes 3!

[ANDREW, the producer walks on]

ANDREW: Bob, calm man. It's fine. Everything's fine

[BOB suddenly lashes out at MOUDLY, who has been teasing him with an inflatable alien, punching him to the ground]

BOB: But I bet we've all forgotten about the ten pound note, haven't we? What a weak plot hook. Who wrote this thing. A retarded monkey?

[From off camera, monkey sounds emerge]

ANDREW: [Calling] Quiet Chumpy. I think we'll need you to redraft for Bob here. [He lobs a banana off camera] Yes, that's right. Good boy Chumpy, write us our script.

BOB: And the pirates… why?

[In the corner stand the businessmen pirates]

STEWART: I'm a pirate!


BOB: No, I'm going to be anal and quit. I didn't even try to lift a finger actually in pre-production, but I'm buggered if you're not going to let me take over now. Bye! I'm off to film old people. Ahahahaaaaaa! But first…. [He grabs the half-burnt ten pound note and shoves it in his mouth. With his mouth full:] Ooh no, I'm eating your props!

[Everyone stares at him]



[Suddenly BOB makes choking noises and topples over, dead. The camera retreats on a shot of his body, as a deep voice speaks (a la Outer Limits):]

VOICE: Sometimes in life, it's best not to wish for anything - lest it comes true!


ANDREW: Pardon?

[The camera pulls back to reveal the voice-over man standing beside ANDREW]

VOICE: Oh, sorry, I said that sometimes in life, it's best not to wish for anything - lest it comes true.

ANDREW: Ah right. Didn't catch that.

Fade to black


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