
Scanned and corrected by Dirk Gently-as usual. If you have some interesting books to be scanned (Finnish and Estonian preferred!), and they'd interest me as well, you can contact me. Don't forget the three letters: i-R-C! Sorry, no Email addy is possible. I had lots of probs scanning/editing this text, so it'd be great (if you are a DNA fan) if you sent me some greets in demoz/diskmags of yours, if you appreciate my effort to make this book available for you.
I recommend you keeping the file's Word format coz I've edited the text with Bold and Italic characters as well.
There were some TIFFs as well in the archive. COVER.TIF was the TrueColor TIFF of the cover. The other TIFFs were: 6.tif: the name (and the text) speaks for itself :) (600 dpi, BW 256, 20%) APP1\_1... APP1\_4.tif: Appendix 1's 4 pages (900 dpi, BW 256, 20%) Anyway, to make life easier, I've also typed in the contents of the mentioned TIFs so you won't need to get the TIFFs.
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'IT'S ALL
ABSOLUTELY
DEVASTATINGLY
TRUE -
EXCEPT THE BITS
THAT ARE LIES'
This is the story of an ape-descended human called
Douglas Adams who, in a field in Innsbruck, in 1971, had an idea.
It us also the story of a book called, at a very high level
of improbability, The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy;
of the radio series that started it all; the five book
trilogy it comprises; and the computer game, towel
and television series that it, in its turn, has spawned.
'DESERVES AS MUCH CULT
SUCCESS AS THE HITCH HIKER'S
BOOKS THEMSELVES'
Time Out
REVISED & UPDATED
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`Hilarious fun... a source of much delightful trivia'
- Publisbers Weekly
`Fanciful and irreverent... adds much extra information'
- Forecast
`Droll and informative... indispensable'
- American Library Association
`Indispensable... a treasure trove of quotes and anecdotes'
- Locus
Full of fun... and much more information than most books
of this type'
- Science Fiction Chronicle
`An excellent insight into the creative process'
- Vector
BOOKS BY DOUGLAS ADAMS
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
The Restaurant at the End of the Universe
Life, the Universe, and Everything
So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish
Mostly Harmless
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: A Trilogy in Four Parts The Utterly Utterly Merry Comic Relief
Christmas Book (Editor)
The Meaning of Liff (with John Lloyd)
Thc Decper Mcaning of Liff (with John Lloyd)
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: The Original Radio Scripts Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency
Thc Long Dark Tca-Timc of thc Soul
Last Chance to See (with Mark Carwardine)
OTHER BOOKS BY NEIL GAIMAN
Black Orchid
Thc Books of Magic
Ghastly Beyond Belief
Sandman: Thc Doll's House
Sandman: Dream Country
Sandman: A Game of You
Sandman: Preludes and Nocturnes
Sandman: Season of Mists
Violent Cases
DON'T PANIC - DOUGLAS ADAMS & THE
HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE TO THE GALAXY
ISBN 185286 411 7
Published by
Titan Books Ltd
London SE1 8QH
First edition published as `Don't Panic: The Official
Hitehhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Companion' January 1988
Second revised edition July 1993
Copyright (C) Neil Gaiman 1987,1993
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and all extracts from
the works of Douglas Adams are copyright Douglas
Adams 1987-1993 and used by permission of William Heinemann Ltd
Cover illustration `Swarm Fish' (C) 1993 Britstock-IFA Ltd
used with permission.
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data. A catalogue record for this book is available from thc British Library.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or
otherwise circulated without the publishers prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is
published and without a similar condition including this
condition being imposed upon the subsequent purchaser
Printed and bound in Great Britain by Cox and Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berhshire
Because she's threatened me with consequences too dreadful
to consider if I don't dedicate a book to her...
And because she's taken to starting every transatlantic
conversation with "Have you dedicated a book to me yet?"...
I would like to dedicate this book to intelligent life forms everywhere.
And to my sister, Claire.
CONTENTS
Foreword ix
0 The Hitchhiker's Gvide to Europe 1
2 Cambridge and Other Recurrent Phenonema 9
3 The Wilderness Years 14
5 When Yov Hitch Upon a Star 23
6 Radio, Radio 31
1 A Slightly Unreliable Producer 43
8 Have Tardis, Will Travel 47
9 H2 G2 53
11 "Childish, Pointless, Codswalloping Drivel..." 68
13 Of Mice, ond Men, ond Tired TV Producers 76
14 The Restaurant at the End of the Universe 101
15 Invasion USA 105
16 Life, the Universe, ond Everything 111
11 Making Movies 119
18 Liff, and Other Places 125
20 Do You Know Where Your Towel Is? 146
21 Games with Computers 148
22 Letters to Douglas Adams 157
24 Saving the World at No Extra Charge 174
25 Douglas and Other Animals 179
Appendix I: Hitchhiker's - the Original Sypnosis 191
Appendix II: The Variant Texts of Hitchhiker's---
What Happens Where and Why 195
Appendix III: Who's Who in the Galaxy---
Some Comments by Douglas Adams 201
Appendix IV: The Definitive How to Leave the Planet 210
Appendix V: Dr Who and the Krikkitmen---
an Excerpt from the film Treatment by Douglas Adams 214
Foreword
THE HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE TO THE GALAXY is the most
remarkable, certainly the most successful book ever to come out of the great publishing companies of Ursa Minor. It is about the size of a paperback book, but looks more like a large pocket calculator, having upon its face over a hundred flat press-buttons and a screen about four inches square, upon which any one of over six million pages can be summoned almost instantly. It
comes in a durable plastic cover, upon which the words
DON'T PANIC!
are printed in large, friendly letters.
There are no known copies of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the
Galaxy on this planet at this time.
This is not its story.
It is, however, the story of a book also called, at a very high level of improbability, The HitchHiker's Guide to tbe Galaxy; of the radio series that started it all; the five-book trilogy it comprises; the computer game, towel, and television series that it, in its turn, has spawned.
To tell the story of the book - and the radio series, and the towel - it is best to tell the story of some of the minds behind it.
Foremost among these is an ape-descended human from the
planet Earth, although at the time our story starts he no more knows his destiny (which will include international travel,
computers, an almost infinite number of lunches, and becoming mindbogglingly rich) than an olive knows how to mix a Pan
Galactic Gargle Blaster.
His name is Douglas Adams, he is six foot five inches tall, and he is about to have an idea.
The Hitchhiker's Guide to Europe
THE IDEA IN QUESTION bubbled into Douglas Adams's mind
quite spontaneously, in a field in Innsbruck. He no longer has any personal memory of it having happened. But it's the story he tells, and, if there can be such a thing, it's the beginning. If you have to take a flag reading THE STORY STARTS HERE and
stick it into the story, then there is no other place to put it.
It was 1971, and the eighteen-year-old Douglas Adams was
hitchhiking his way across Europe with a copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide to Europe that he had stolen (he hadn't bothered `borrowing' a copy of Europe on $5 a Day; he didn't have that kind of money).
He was drunk. He was poverty-stricken. He was too poor to
afford a room at a youth hostel (the entire story is told at length in his introduction to The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: A Trilogy in Four Parts in England, and The Hitchhiker's Trilogy in the US) and he wound up, at the end of a harrowing day, flat on his back in a field in Innsbruck, staring up at the stars.
"Somebody," he thought, "somebody really ought to write a
Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy."
He forgot about the idea shortly thereafter.
Five years later, while he was struggling to think of a
legitimate reason for an alien to visit Earth, the phrase returned to him. The rest is history, and will be told in this book.
The field in Innsbruck has since been transformed into an unremarkable section of autobahn.
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"When you're a student or whatever, and you can't afford a car, or a plane fare, or even a train fare, all you can do is hope that someone will stop and pick you up.
"At the moment we can't afford to go to other planets. We
don't have the ships to take us there. There may be other people out there (I don't have any opinions about Life Out There,I just don't know) but it's nice to think that one could, even here and now, be whisked away just by hitchhiking."
- Douglas Adams,1984.
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DNA
DEOXYRIBONUCLEIC ACID, commonly known as DNA, is the
fundamental genetic building block for all living creatures. The structure of DNA was discovered and unravelled, along with its significance, in Cambridge, England, in 1952, and announced to the world in March 1953.
This was not the first DNA to appear in Cambridge,
however. A year earlier, on the 11 th March 1952, Douglas Noel Adams was born in a former Victorian workhouse in Cambridge.
His mother was a nurse, his father a postgraduate theology
student who was training for holy orders, but gave it up when his friends managed to persuade him it was a terrible idea.
His parents moved from Cambridge when he was six months
old, and divorced when he was five. At that time, Douglas was considered a little strange, possibly even retarded. He had only just learned to talk and, "I was the only kid who anybody I knew has ever seen actually walk into a lamppost with his eyes wide open. Everybody assumed that there must be something going on inside, because there sure as hell didn't seem to be anything going on on the outside!"
Douglas was a solitary child; he had few close friends, and one sister, Susan, three years younger than he was.
In September 1959 he started at Brentwood School in Essex,
where he stayed until 1970. He says of the school, "We tended to produce a lot of media trendies. Me, Griff Rhys Jones, Noel
Edmunds, Simon Bell (who wrote the novelisation for Griff and Mel Smith's famous non-award winning movie, Morons from
Outer Space; he's not a megastar yet, but he gives great parties). A lot of the people who designed the Amstrad Computer were at
Brentwood, as well. But we had a very major lack of archbishops, prime ministers and generals."
He was not particularly happy at school, most of his
memories having to do with "basically trying to get off games".
Although he was quite good at cricket and swimming he was
terrible at football and "diabolically bad at rugby - the first time I ever played it, I broke my own nose on my knee. It's quite a trick, especially standing up.
"They could never work out at school whether I was terribly clever or terribly stupid. I always had to understand everything fully before I was prepared to say anything."
He was a tall and gawky child, self-conscious of his height: "My last year at prep school we had to wear short trousers, and I was so absurdly lanky, and looked so ridiculous, that my mother applied for special permission for me to wear long trousers. And they said no, pointing out I was just about to go into the main school. I went to the main school and was allowed to wear long trousers, at which point we discovered they didn't have any long enough for me. So for the first term I still had to go to school in short trousers."
His ambitions at that time had more to do with the sciences than the arts: "At the age when most kids wanted to be firemen, I wanted to be a nuclear physicist. I never made it because my arithmetic was too bad - I was good at maths conceptually, but lousy at arithmetic, so I didn't specialise in the sciences. If I had known what they were, I would have liked to be a software engineer... but they didn't have them then."
His hobbies revolved around making model aeroplanes ("I had a big display on top of a chest of drawers at home. There was a large old mirror that stood behind them, and one day the mirror fell forward and crushed the lot of them. I never made a model plane after that, I was upset, distraught for days. It was this mindless blow that fate had dealt me..."), playing the guitar, and reading.
"I didn't read as much as, looking back, I wish I had done.
And not the right things, either. (When I have children I'll do as much to encourage them to read as possible. You know, like hit them if they don't.) I read Biggles, and Captain W. E. Johns's famous science fiction series -I particularly remember a book called Quest for the Perfect Planet, a major influence, that was.
There was an author called Eric Leyland, who nobody else ever seems to have heard of: he had a hero called David Flame, who was the James Bond of the ten-year-olds. But when I should have been packing in the old Dickens, I was reading Eric Leyland
instead. But there you go - you can' tell kids, can you?"
Douglas was also an avid reader of Eagle, at that time
Britain's top children's comic, and home of Dan Dare. `Dan
Dare', drawn by artist Frank Hampson, was a science fiction strip detailing the banle between jut-jawed space pilot Dare, his comic sidekick Digby, and the evil green Mekon. It was in Eagle that Douglas first saw print. He had two letters published there at the age of eleven, and was paid the (then) enormous sum of ten
shillings each for them. The short story shows a certain
precocious talent (see page 6).
Of Alice in Wonderland, often cited as an influence, he says I read - or rather, had read to me - Alice in Wonderland as a child and I hated it. It really frightened me. Some months ago, I tried to go back to it and read a few pages, and I thought, `This is jolly good stuff, but still...' If it wasn't for that slightly nightmarish quality that I remember as a kid I'd've enjoyed it, but I couldn't shake that feeling. So although people like to suggest that Carroll was a big influence - using the number 42 and all that - he really was not. "
The first time that Douglas ever thought seriously about
writing was at the age of ten: "There was a master at school called Halford. Every Thursday after break we had an hour's class called composition. We had to write a story. And I was the only person
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EAGLE merry-go-round
EAGLE AND BOYS' WORLD 27 FEBRUARY 1965
SHORT STORY
"' London Transporrt Lost Property Office'- this is it," said Mr. Smith, looking in at the window. As he went in, he tripped over the little step and almost crashed through the glass door.
"That could be dangerous - I must remember it when I go out," he muttered.
"Can I help you?" asked the lost-property officer.
"Yes, I lost something on the 86 bus yesterday."
"Well, what was it you lost?" asked the officer.
"I'm afraid I can't remember," said Mr. Smith.
"Well, I can't help you, then," said the exasperated officer.
"Was anything found on the bus?" asked Mr Smith.
"I'm afraid not, but can you remember anything about this thing?" said the officer, desperately tryting to be helpful.
"Yes, I can remember that it was a very bad - whatever-it-was."
"Anything else?"
"Ah, yes, now I come to think of it, it was something like a sieve," said Mr. Smith, and he put his elbow on the highly polished counter and rested his chin oon his hands. Suddenly, his chin met the counter with a resounding crack. But before the officer could assist him up, Mr Smith jumped triumphantly into the air.
"Thank you very much," he said.
"What for?" said the officer.
"I've found it," said Mr. Smith
"Found what?"
"My memory!" said Mr Smith, and he turned round, tripped over the step and smashed through the glass door!
D.N.Adams (12), Brentwood, Essex.
who ever got ten out of ten for a story. I've never forgotten that.
And the odd thing is, I was talking to someone who has a kid in the same class, and apparently they were all grumbling about how Mr Halford never gave out decent marks for stories. And he told them, `I did once. The only person I ever gave ten out of ten to was Douglas Adams.' He remembers as well.
"I was pleased by that. Whenever I'm stuck on a writer's block (which is most of the time) and 1 just sit there, and 1 can't think of anything,I think, `Ah! But I once did get ten out of ten!' In a way it gives me more of a boost than having sold a million copies of this or a million of that. I think, `I got ten out of ten once. . ."'
His writing career was not always that successful.
"I don't know when the first thoughts of writing came, but it was actually quite early on. Rather silly thoughts, really, as there was nothing to suggest that I could actually do it. All of my life I've been attracted by the idea of being a writer, but like all writers I don't so much like writing as having written. I came across some old school literary magazines a couple of years ago, and I went through them to go back and find the stuff 1 was
writing then. But I couldn't find anything I'd written, which puzzled me until 1 remembered that each time I meant to try to write something, I'd miss the deadline by two weeks."
He appeared in school plays, and discovered a love of performing ("I was a slightly strange actor. There tended to be things I could do well and other things I couldn't begin to do. . .I couldn't do dwarves for example; I had a lot of trouble with dwarf parts."). Then, while watching The Frost Report one evening, his ambitions of a life well-spent as a nuclear physicist, eminent surgeon, or professor of English began to evaporate. Douglas's attention was caught by six-foot five-inch future Python John Cleese, performing in sketches that were mostly self-written. "I can do that!" thought Douglas, "I'm as tall as he is!" [Although at first glance this theory may seem flippant, a brief examination shows that thc field of British comedy is littered with incredibly tall people. John Cleese, Peter Cook, Ray Galton and Alan Simpson and Adams himself arc all 6'5", Frank Muir is 6'6", as is Dennis Norden.. Douglas has often mentioned that the late Graham Chapman, at only 6'3', was thus four per cent less funny than the rest. .]
In order to become a writer-performer, he had to write. This caused problems: "I used to spend a lot of time in front of a typewriter wondering what to write, tearing up pieces of paper and never actually writing anything." This not-writing quality was to become a hallmark of Douglas's later work.
But the die had been cast. Adams abandoned all his
daydreams, even those of being a rock star (he was, and indeed is; a creditable guitarist), and set out to be a writer-performer.
He left school in December 1970, and, on the strength of an essay on the revival of religious poetry (which brought together on one sheet of foolscap Christopher Smart, Gerard Manley
Hopkins and John Lennon), he won an exhibition to study
English at Cambridge.
And it was important to Douglas that it was Cambridge.
Not just because his father had been to Cambridge, or simply because he had been born there. He wanted to go to Cambridge because it was from a Cambridge University society that the
writers and performers of such shows as Beyond the Fringe, That Was The Week That Was, I'm Sorry I'll Read That Again, and, of course, many of the Monty Python's Flying Circus team had come.
Douglas Adams wanted to join Footlights.
Cambridge and Other
Recurrent Phenomena
BEFORE GOING UP TO CAMBRIDGE, Douglas Adams had
begun the series of jobs that would serve him on book jackets ever after. He had decided to hitchhike to Istanbul, and in order to make the money to travel he worked first as a chicken-shed cleaner, then as a porter in the X-ray department of Yeovil
General Hospital (while at school he had worked as a porter in a mental hospital).
The hitchhike itself was not spectacularly successful:
although he reached Istanbul, he contracted food poisoning there, and was forced to return to England by train. He slept in the corridors, felt extremely sorry for himself, and was hospitalised on his return to England. Perhaps it was a combination of his illness with the hospital work he had been doing, but on his arrival home he began to feel guilty for not going on to study medicine.
"I come from a somewhat medical family. My mother was a
nurse, my stepfather was a vet, and my father's father (whom I never actually met) was a very eminent ear nose and throat
specialist in Glasgow. I kept working in hospitals as well. And I had the feeling that, if there is Anyone Up There, He kept tapping me on the shoulder and saying, `Oy! Oy! Get your stethoscope out! This is what you should be doing!' But I never did."
Douglas rejected medicine, in part because he wanted to be a writer-performer (although at least four top British writer---
performers have been doctors - Jonathan Miller, Graham
Chapman, Graeme Garden and Rob Buckman) and in part
because it would have meant going off for another two years to get a new set of A-levels. Douglas went on to study English
literature at St John's College, Cambridge.
Academically, Douglas's career was covered in less than
glory, although he is still proud of the work he did on
Christopher Smart, the eighteenth-century poet.
"For years Smart stayed at Cambridge as the most drunken
and lecherous student they'd ever had. He used to do drag revues drank in the same pub that I did. He went from Cambridge to
Grub Street, where he was the most debauched journalist they had ever had, when suddenly he underwent an extreme religious conversion and did things like falling on his knees in the middle of the street and praying to God aloud. It was for that that he was thrust into a loony bin, in which he wrote his only work, the Jubilate Agno, which was as long as Paradise Lost, and was an attempt to write the first Hebraic verse in English."
Even as an undergraduate, Douglas was perpetually missing
deadlines: in three years he only managed to complete three
essays. This however may have had less to do with his fabled lateness than with the fact that his studies came in a poor third to his other interests - performing and pubs.
Although Douglas had gone to Cambridge with the intention
of joining Footlights, he was never happy with them, nor they with him. His first term attempt to join Footlights was a failure - he found them "aloof and rather pleased with themselves"
and, being made to feel rather a `new boy', he wound up joining CULES (Cambridge University Light Entertainment Society)
and doing jolly little shows in hospitals, prisons, and the like.
These shows were not particularly popular (especially not in the prisons), and Douglas now regards the whole thing with no little embarrassment.
In his second term, feeling slightly more confident, he
auditioned with a friend called Keith Jeffrey at one of the
Footlights `smokers' - informal evenings at which anybody could get up and perform. "It was there that I discovered that there was one guy, totally unlike the rest of the Footlights Committee, who was actually friendly and helpful, all the things the others weren't, a completely nice guy named Simon Jones. He encouraged me, and from then on I got on increasingly well in Footlights.
"But Footlights had a very traditional role to fulfil: it had to produce a pantomime at Christmas, a late-night revue in the
middle term, and a spectacular commercial show at the end of every year, as a result of which it couldn't afford to take any risks.
"I think it was Henry Porter, a history don who was
treasurer of Footlights, who said that the shows that had gone on to become famous were not the Cambridge shows but subsequent reworkings. Beyond the Fringe wasn't a Footlights show, neither was Cambridge Circus (the show that launched John Cleese et
al), it wasn't the Cambridge show but a reworking done after they'd all left Cambridge. Footlights shows themselves had to fight against the constraints of what Footlights had to produce every year. "
Douglas rapidly earned a reputation for suggesting ideas that struck everyone else as hopelessly implausible. He felt strait-jacketed by Footlights (and by the fact that nobody in Footlights seemed to feel his ideas were particularly funny) and, with two friends, he formed a `guerilla' revue group called Adams-Smith-Adams (because two members of the group were called Adams, and the third, as you might already have guessed, was called Smith)". (Will Adams joined a knitwear company upon leaving university; Martin Smith went into advertising, and was later immortalised as `bloody Martin Smith of Croydon' in a book written by Douglas.)
As Douglas explained, "We invested all our money - $40, or
whatever it was - in hiring a theatre for a week, and then we knew we had to do it. So we wrote it, performed it, and had a
considerable hit with it. It was a great moment. I really loved that."
It was then that Douglas made an irrevocable decision to become a writer. This was to cause him no little anguish and aggravation in the years to come.
The show was called Several Poor Players Strutting and
Fretting, and this extract from the programme notes has the
flavour of early Douglas Adams:
By the time you've read the opposite page (cast and credits) you'll probably be feeling restive and wondering when the
show will start. Well, it should start at the exact moment that you read the first word of the next sentence. If it hasn't started yet, you're reading too fast. If it still hasn't started, you're reading much too fast, and we can recommend our own book
`How To Impair Your Reading Ability', written and published by Adams-Smith-Adams. With the aid of this slim volume, you will find that your reading powers shrink to practically nothing within a very short space of time. The more you read, the
slower you get. Theoretically, you will never get to the end, which makes it the best value book you will ever have bought!
The following year Adams-Smith-Adams (aided in performance
by the female presence of Margaret Thomas, who, the programme booklet declared, was `getting quite fed up with the improper advances that are continually being made to her by the other three, all of whom are deeply and tragically in love with her') took to the stage again in their second revue, The Patter of Tiny Minds. These shows were popular, packed out, and generally
considered to be somewhat better than the orthodox Footlights'
offerings.
Douglas considers his favourite sketches of this period to be one about a railway signalman who caused havoc over the entire Southern Region by attempting to demonstrate the principles of existentialism using the points system, and another of which he says, "It's hard to describe what it was about - there was a lot of stuff about cat-shaving, which was very bizarre but seemed quite funny at the time."
It was shortly after this that Douglas Adams gave up
performing permanently to concentrate on writing; this was due to his continuing upset with Footlights, and specifically with the 1974 Footlights Show. As he explains, "It is something that
happened with Footlights that I still get upset about, because I think that Footlights should be a writer-performer show. But, in my day, Footlights became a producer's show. The producer says who's going to be in it, and who he wants to write it, they are appointed and the producer calls the tune. I think that's wrong, that it's too artificial. My year in Footlights was full of immensely talented people who never actually got the chance to work
together properly.
"In my case, Footlights came to us - Adams-Smith-Adams
- and said, `Can we use all this material that the three of you have written?' and we said, `Fine, okay', whereupon they said, `But we don't want you to be in it'."
As things turned out, Martin Smith did appear in the show,
(alongside Griff Rhys Jones and future Ford Prefect, Geoffrey McGivern) but neither of the Adamses appeared, something that Douglas Adams is still slightly bitter about.
Douglas was still hitchhiking over Europe, and taking
strange jobs to pay for incidentals. In another bid to get to Istanbul, he took a job building barns, during the course of which he crashed a tractor, which broke his pelvis, ripped up his arm, and damaged the road so badly it needed to be repaired. He
wound up in hospital once more, but knew that it was far too late for him to become a doctor.
In Summer 1974, Douglas Adams left Cambridge: young,
confident, and certain that the world would beat a path to his door, that he was destined to change the face of comedy across the globe.
Of course it would, and he did. But it did not seem that way at the time.
The Wilderness Years
FOLLOWING HIS GRADUATION from Cambridge, Douglas
Adams began doing the occasional office job, working as a filing clerk while trying to work out what to do with the rest of his life.
He wrote a number of sketches for Weekending - a radio show
that satirises the events, chiefly political, of the past week. Due to his inability to write to order, and the fact that, although many of his sketches were funny, they were unlike anything ever
broadcast on the show before, almost none of these sketches ever went out on the air.
The Footlights show of that year, Chox, not only got to the West End - the first Footlights show in a long time to do so-but it was also televised (Adams remembers fondly the enormous sum of $100 he was paid for the television rights to his sketches).
The show was, in Adams's words, "a dreadful flop", but a
number of former Footlights personnel came to see it.
Among them was Graham Chapman. Chapman was a six
foot three inch-tall doctor who, instead of practising medicine, found himself part of the Monty Python team (he was Arthur in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, and Brian in Monty Python's Life of Brian). At that time the future of Monty Python was
uncertain, and the members of the team were diversifying and experimenting with projects of their own. Chapman liked
Adams's work, and invited him over for a drink. Douglas came for the drink, got chatting, and began a writing partnership that was to last for the next eighteen months. It looked like it was Adams's big break - at 22 he was working with one of the top people in British comedy.
Unfortunately, very few of the projects that Douglas and
Graham worked on were to see the light of day.
One that did - or nearly did - was Out of the Trees, a
television sketch show that starred Chapman and Simon Jones. It was shown once, late at night on BBC 2, with no publicity,
garnered no reviews, and went no further.
"My favourite bit from that show was a lovely sketch about
Genghis Khan; who had become so powerful and important and
successful as a conqueror he really didn't have any time for conquering anymore, because he was constantly off seeing his financial advisors and so on - it was partly a reflection of what one heard Graham muttering about the other members of Monty
Python. I was very fond of that sketch.(This sketch, rewritten into a short story, incorporatcd into the Hitchhiker's canon and illustrated by Michael Foreman, appeared in The Utterly Utterly Merry Comic Relief Christmas Book.)
"The second episode of Out of the Trees was never even
made, although there was some nice stuff in it. My favourite sketch was called `A Haddock at Eton', about a haddock given a place at Eton to show the place was becoming more egalitarian. It got terribly bullied. Only it gets a rich guardian anyway, so the whole exercise is rather futile."
While Out of the Trees was not exactly a success, The Ringo Starr Show was even less noteworthy. It didn't even get to the pilot stage. The show was to be an SF comedy, starring Ringo as a chauffeur who carried his boss around on his back, until one day a flying saucer landed and mistakenly gave Ringo the powers of his ancestral race - the power to travel through space, to do flower arranging, and to destroy the universe by waving his hand.
It would have been an hour-long American television special, but the project fell through. Douglas remembers the show with affection, and later salvaged one of his ideas from it in
Hitchhiker's: this was the Golgafrincham B - Ark sequence.
Other Chapman-connected projects of this time include some
work on the Holy Grail record, for which a sketch of Douglas's was highly rewritten by various hands: in its original form it concerned the digging up of Marilyn Monroe s corpse to star in a movie...
Douglas also helped write ("nearly came to blows over")
parts of Chapman's autobiography, A Liar's Autobiography. He co-wrote an episode of Doctor on the Go. It was doubtless his (not particularly major) contribution to the record, and his two walk-on parts in the last series of Monty Python's Flying Circus that caused the original American promotion of Hitchhiker's, five years later, to bill him as a member of the Python team. (For completists, or people who are interested, Douglas played a
surgeon in a sketch that never gets started, and later, in a scene where a rag-and-bone man is hawking nuclear missiles from a
horse and cart, Douglas was one of the squeaky-voiced little `pepperpot' ladies, as the Pythons call them.)
It is worth noting at this point that Douglas had not really earned much money. His $17-a-week rent was being paid from
his overdraft. He was not happy. The collaboration with Graham Chapman, far from being the break it had seemed, was a failure that left Douglas convinced that he was a 24-year-old washout.
The collaboration's collapse was due to many factors, including Chapman's then troubles with alcoholism, Douglas's increaslng lack of money, the uncertainties about the future of Monty
Python's Flying Circus, and just plain bad luck.
At about the time that Douglas Adams and Chapman finally
split up, Douglas was invited to Cambridge to direct the 1976
Footlights revue. In the past, the director s job had been to go to Cambridge every weekend for two or three months, take
whatever show Footlights had roughly worked out so far, pull it into shape and stage it professionally.
Unfortunately for Douglas, in the two years since he had left Cambridge, the Footlights clubroom, which was the hub of the society, had closed down and been redeveloped into a shopping centre. Footlights had become homeless and dispossessed, and had almost ceased to exist.
"Whereas in my year,1974, there were tremendous battles
and competition to get in, I wound up in 1976 knocking on
people's doors, saying, `Have you heard of Footlights and would you like to be in the May Week Revue?' It was terrible. I got some people - Jimmy Mulville and Rory McGrath from Who
Dares Wins, Charles Shaughnessy, who's now a daytime soap
heart-throb in America on a show called Days of Our Lives---
and the final show had some good bits, but they were few and far between, and the whole experience was pain and agony. I had to conjure something out of nothing. At the end of the show I was completely demoralised and exhausted."
At this point, Douglas went to the Edinburgh Festival, with John Lloyd, David Renwick and others, with a fringe show called The Unpleasantness of Something Close, for which Andrew
Marshall was to write some sketches. The show made no money, and Douglas's income for the year was now approaching $200.
His overdraft was nearing $2000.
With his flatmate, John Lloyd, he worked on a film
treatment for the Stigwood Organisation - an SF comedy based on The Guinness Book of Records - which never got off the
ground, the attitude being, "Who was John Lloyd, and who was Douglas Adams?" Together they also wrote pilots for a television situation comedy to be called Snow Seven and the White Dwarfs, about two astronomers living in isolation together in a fictitious observatory situated on top of Mt. Everest. ("The idea for that was minimum casting, minimum set, minimum number of sets,
and we'd just try to sell the series on cheapness. That failed to come to anything.")
While demoralised and very broke, Douglas answered a
classified ad in the Evening Standard and found himself a
bodyguard to an oil-rich Arabian family - a job which involved sitting outside hotel rooms for twelve hours a night, wearing a suit, and running away if anybody turned up waving a gun or
grenade. (So far as it can be established, nobody ever did.) The family had an income of $20,000,000 a day, which cannot have done much for Douglas's morale, although it provided him with numerous anecdotes and another profession for the book jacket biographies.
"I remember one group of family members had gone down
to the restaurant in the Dorchester. The waiter had brought the menu and they said, `We'll have it.' It took a while for the penny to drop that they actually meant the whole lot, the a la carte, which is over a thousand pounds' worth of food. So the waiters brought it, the family tried a little bit of all of it, then went back up to their room. Then they sent out one of their servants to bring back a sackful of hamburgers, which is what their real obsession was. "
All of Douglas's attempts to persuade television producers
that a comedy science fiction series might not be a bad idea had come to nothing. His overdraft was enormous. He couldn't pay the rent. He had almost convinced himself that he was not and never would be a writer, and that he needed a "proper job". It was coming on towards Christmas 1976, and a highly depressed Douglas Adams went to his mother's house in Dorset, where he did not have to pay any rent, to live for the next six months, coming into London as necessary.
He was a 24-year-old flop.
Gherkin Swallowing, Walking Backwards
and All That
JOHN LLOYD IS PROBABLY the most influential producer in British comedy today. His successes include Not the Nine O'Clock
News, Black Adder, and Spitting Image. He was also associate producer of the Hitchhiker's television series, and co-wrote Episodes Five and Six of the first radio series with Douglas Adams. He also co-wrote The Meaning of Liff with Douglas
Adams, of which more later.
Lloyd was a member of Footlights in 1973. He had intended
to become a barrister, but was infected by show business, and on graduating worked as a freelance writer, and as a producer in BBC Radio Light Entertainment.
He is a phenomenally busy man. I wound up interviewing
him for this book at nine o'clock one Monday morning at the
Spitting Image studios in London's Limehouse Docks, squeezed into a crowded schedule while people with urgent problems
gestured at him from outside the glass partitions of his office.
"I knew Douglas, although not very well, at university. I was at Trinity, Cambridge, while he was at St John's, which is the next college along. Douglas did some of the unfunniest sketches ever seen on the Footlights stage - according to the people in Footlights. He'd do very long sketches. . . there was one about a tree, I remember, and another about a postbox. He'd stand up at these Footlights smokers and harangue the audience with these long, rather wearisome sketches, which didn't go down at all well in Footlights at that time, which was almost all singing and dancing. "
And so he went off with Martin Smith and Will Adams and
they did two absolutely brilliant college revues, packed out, at the same time I was doing the Trinity revues. (Footlights at that time was a bunch of nancy boys - they had this awful club where
they'd all go and pretend to be Noel Coward; but when that got knocked down to build a car park, Footlights became more
peripatetic, and it began to attract a broader spectrum of people.) "It was thought - especially by Douglas - that the Adams-Smith-Adams's revues were much better than Footlights' - and indeed they were. There was one amazingly funny bit in the
interval where they told jokes very slowly to drive people out of the audience into the bar.
"I'd met Douglas a few times at parties, but it was only when I'd left university that I used to go and have lots of hamburgers with Douglas in a hamburger bar called Tootsies in Notting Hill, and we got to know each other extraordinarily well. We
eventually wound up sharing a flat.
"I was working as a radio producer and Douglas was doing
things like writing with Graham Chapman - an absolutely
bizarre experience, as they used to get phenomenally drunk.
Graham had a room in his house entirely devoted to gin: it was just gin bottles (he later went on the wagon) that lined the walls, and occasionally when I was working in BBC Radio I'd go up
there at lunchtime. They'd have a few gins before lunch, then they'd go to the pub and do all the crosswords in every paper.
Then they'd, get roaring drunk, and usually Graham would take his willy out and put it on the bar... it was quite entertaining.
"After work, I'd come back from the office, and usually
Douglas had had a very large number of baths and cups of tea and eaten all the food, and we'd sit around and write in the evenings.
There were three of us sharing a house: my girlfriend, Douglas, and me. I was fully employed, but Douglas was struggling rather; he was very poor, and getting broker and broker, and his
overdraft was going up and up, and he was getting more and
more desperate. We had all these projects: Douglas and Graham had written a treatment for a film of the Guinness Book of
Records, which fell through, so Douglas and I started doing it.
We did rather well - the Stigwood Organisation liked it, and they invited us to come to Bermuda and discuss it, and we were incredibly excited. It was dreadfully disappointing. We never heard anything more from them, and we never even got paid for it.
"It would have been a science fiction thing, about a race of aliens who were the most aggressive aliens in the whole universe, who somehow got hold of a copy of the Guinness Book of
Records and who immediately came down to challenge the world at wrestling and boxing and stamping on people's knuckles, that kind of thing. And the United Nations (John Cleese was going to be general secretary of the UN, I remember) agreed to compete, but they wanted to do all the silly events, like gherkin---
swallowing, walking backwards and all that. So they had a
Guinness Book of Records Olympics, and the aliens won all the sensible events, but lost at all the silly things.
"Then we decided to go and live in Roehampton. We were
very happy, until we started advertising for a fourth person to share the house, and we had a succession of weird people.There was one very bizarre person - one day we got back from work
to find he'd ripped up every carpet in the house (the house was rented from a little old lady) and he'd thrown them out of the window, as he said they were `smelly'. The last straw came when we came home to find he'd chain-sawed the front hedge down
because, he said, it was untidy.
"At that time I was producing Weekending, and I was always
trying to get Douglas to produce stuff. At that time, I'd write lots of quickies for all sorts of comedy shows, while Douglas
wouldn't. At the time, I thought he was wrong, I thought you had to be able to do everything which I could, and he couldn't, or wouldn't. I fitted in quite easily, and I got Douglas to write for Weekending. He wrote a very funny sketch about John
Stonehouse, the idea being that he was pretending to be dead all the time, but it just wasn't right for the show. It was very funny but wrong.
"Then we went our separate ways.1 was a radio producer.
He was an unsuccessful writer. Anyway, we remained good
friends. But Douglas was at the edge of despair at that time, he was absolutely broke (if he wanted a drink I'd have to buy it for him). He had started applying for jobs in shipping in Hong Kong and so on, as he'd totally given up on being a writer.
"And then Simon Brett came along..."
When You Hitch Upon a Star
"1976 WAS MY WORST YEAR. I'd decided I was hopeless at writing and I'd never earn any money at it. I felt hopeless and helpless and beached. I was overdrawn and in a bad way.
"In Hitchhiker's there's an element of writing myself back up out of that. I was surprised and delighted to find a lot of letters from people in the early days would say, `I was terribly depressed and upset until I sat down and read your book. It's really shown me the way up again'. I wrote it to do this for myself, and it's seemed to have the same effect on a lot of other people. I can't explain it. Perhaps I've inadvertently written a self-help book."
There are a number of people without whom Hitchhiker's,
at least in the form we know it, would never have appeared.
John Lloyd is one; Geoffrey Perkins another. But without
doubt, the most important is Simon Brett, who was, in 1976,
producer of a Radio 4 comedy programme, The Burkiss Way.
Simon Brett deserves more space than can conveniently be given here: He's been a producer and director on radio and television.
He has written for radio and television shows as diverse as Frank Muir Goes Into... and the cult show After Henry. As an author, he is best known for his excellent mysteries, including the series of murder mysteries starring Charles Paris (a lousy actor but a great detective) which, with their accurate and incisive scrutiny of life inside television, radio and theatre in Britain today, should be compulsory reading for anyone interested in the environments that Hitchhiker's comes out of; he has written a number of
humour books, and some notable pastiches, including his sequel to Geoffrey Willan's and Ronald Searles's Molesworth books.
Brett had met Adams through John Lloyd, at that time a
junior radio producer himself, and felt, as he explained to me, that, "Douglas was a talent without a niche. I'd encouraged him to write for Weekending as he really didn't have any outlets for his humour, but it wasn't his thing, it can be a restricting market.
Then I started The Burkiss Way for which he did a few sketches - one was the Kamikaze Briefing, another was a parody of Von Daniken, about the world being created by fluffy kittens in bow ties singing `Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head'."
Brett had the wit to see that Douglas needed a show of his
own, rather than to try to cram his own strange talent into
someone else's format and on 4th February 1977 Douglas
travelled up from Dorset to see Simon, who wanted to know if he had any ideas for a comedy show.
While Douglas had promoted the idea of a comedy science
fiction series to all manner of unimpressed television producers, he had not even thought about it as a radio possibility, feeling that radio was too conservative a medium ever to be interested in science fiction. So, initially, the ideas he suggested to Simon were very conservative. And then...
And then history differs. As far as Douglas remembers,
Simon Brett said, "Yes, those ideas are all very well, but what I always wanted to do was a science fiction comedy." According to Brett it was Douglas who suggested it, and he who agreed. It doesn't much matter, really. The subject was broached, both were enthusiastic, and Douglas went off to come up with an idea.
The initial idea was one that Douglas had had lying around
for a while: "It was about this guy's house being demolished and then the Earth being demolished for the same reason. I decided to do a series of six shows, each of which would deal with the
destruction of the Earth for a completely different reason.
"It was going to be called The Ends ofthe Earth. It's still not a bad idea.
"But it was while I was tinkering with the story idea for the first one that I thought, to give the story perspective there really ought to be somebody on Earth who is an alien who knows
what's going on.
"Then I remembered this title I'd thought of while lying in a field in Innsbruck in 1971 and thought, `OK, he's a roving
researcher for The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy'. And the more I thought about it, the more that seemed to be a promising idea for a continuing story, as opposed to The Ends of the Earth, which would have been a series of different stories."
Adams did a three-page outline for the first episode of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, with an additional page of future plans for the show (as can be seen, almost nothing remains the same from the arrival in the Vogon hold onwards) (see Appendix 1). The outline, with the name `Aleric B' crossed out and the last-minute replacement. `Arthur Dent', written in above it went to the BBC
programme development group. Douglas was lucky in having
two allies in the group: Simon Brett; and producer John
Simmonds, the chief producer, who was, although fairly
conservative, a big fan of Douglas's Kamikaze Briefing sketch for The Burkiss Way.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
KAMIKAZE
FX WILD FLURRY OF FLAMENCO MUSIC
WHICH CONTINUES FOR SOME TIME.
VOICE: Japan 1945
FLAMENCO RESUMES.
Japan!
FLAMENCO MUSIC CONTINUES. WE
VAGUELY SEE THE NARRATOR GOING
INTO THE BAND AND, FOR INSTANCE,
ATTACKING THE PIANO. JAPANESE MUSIC
STARTS RELUCTANTLY AND STOPS VERY
SOON.
VOICE: Thank you. Japan 1945. The war was moving into
its final stage. The Japanese nation was in a desperate
situation... I didn't say stop the music. (HE GOES
BACK TO THE BAND AGAIN.) Now look, what
is it? Is it the money, come on. (FLAMENCO
STARTS AGAIN.) No, flamenco won't do! What
do you mean the chords are easier? Look, we've got
all these Japanese instruments for you, why don't
you play something on this lot? (QUICK
FLAMENCO RIFF ON JAPANESE
INSTRUMENTS.) Alright, we're going to have a
chat about this. You lot (characters now on stage)
carry on.
SET CONSISTS OF A BENCH IN A BRIEFING
ROOM ON WHICH SITS ONE KAMIKAZE
PILOT WITH HIS GEAR AND HEADBAND
ON. ON THE BENCH ARE LAID OUT THE
HEADBANDS OF MANY OTHER
PRESUMABLY DECEASED KAMIKAZE
PILOTS. A COMMANDER STANDS TO
ADDRESS THE `MEETING ON WHICH SITS
ONE KAMIKAZE PILOT WITH HIS GEAR
AND HEADBAND ON. ON THE BENCH
ARE LAID OUT THE HEADBANDS OF
MANY OTHER PRESUMABLY DECEASED
KAMIKAZE PILOTS. A COMMANDER
STANDS TO ADDRESS THE `MEETING'.
COMM: Now, you all know the purpose of this mission. It is
a kamikaze mission. Your sacred task is to destroy
the ships of the American fleet in the Pacific. This
will involve the deaths of each and everyone of you.
Including you.
PILOT: Me sir?
CoMM: Yes you. You are a kamikaze pilot?
PILOT: Yes sir.
COMM: What are you?
PILOT: A kamikaze pilot sir.
COMM: And what is your function as a kamikaze pilot?
PILoT: To lay down my life for the Emperor sir!
COMM: How many missions have you flown on?
PILOT: Nineteen sir.
COMM: Yes, I have the reports on your previous missions
here. (FLIPS THROUGH EACH ONE.) Let's see.
Couldn't find target, couldn't find target, got lost,
couldn't find target, forgot to take headband,
couldn't find target, couldn't find target, headband
slipped over eyes, couldn't find target, came back
with headache...
PILOT: Headband too tight sir.
COMM: Vertigo, couldn't find target all the rest, couldn't
find target. Now I don't think you've been looking
very hard.
PILOT: Yes I have sir, I've looked all over the place!
COMM: You see, it's not actually that difficult bearing in
mind that we do have a highly sophisticated
reconnaissance unit whose job it is to tell you where
to find the targets.
PILOT: Well, it's not always accurate sir, sometimes one can search for hours and not see a single aircraft carrier.
COMM: Well, where exactly have you been looking for these
aircraft carriers?
PILOT: Er, well sir...
COMM: (FLIPPING THROUGH NOTES.)... I mean, I
notice for instance that you seem to have more or
less ignored the sea. I would have thought that the
sea was quite a promising area.
PILOT: Yes sir...
COMM: And that the airspace directly above Tokyo was not.
And another thing...
PILOT: Yes sir?
COMM: Skip the victory rolls.
PILOT: Sir, you're being unfair, I have flown over the sea lots of times. I actually attacked an aircraft carrier once.
COMM: Ah yes, I have the details of your `attack' here.
Mission nineteen. Let's see. Take off 0500 hours
proceeded to target area, nice start. Target spotted
0520 hours, good, climbed to a height of 6000ft,
prepared for attack, went into a power dive, and
successfully... landed on target.
PILOT: I had to go wee wees sir. Caught short. But I took off again immediately sir. Good job too - one of our lads
crashed straight into it. Poor devil didn't stand a chance. 
COMM: What?
PILOT: No sir - and that really got me upset, and I was
going to let `em really have it -I was going to whip
it straight out, fly in low and lob it straight through
the dining room porthole - that would have sorted
them out.
COMM: You were going to do what?
PILOT: Cut it straight out and let `em have it, whee splat
right in the middle of their breakfast. They'd have
known we meant business then alright sir.
COMM: What were you going to cut straight out and throw
into their breakfast?
PILOT: My stomach sir. Oh yes, I'd like to see the
expressions on their faces when the great squelchy
mass plummetted right into. . .
COMM: Wait. . . wait a moment, let me just get this clear in my mind. You were going to cut out...
PILOT: My stomach, yes sir, kamikaze... (DOES HARA---
KIRI GESTURE.)
COMM: You were going to cut out your stomach and...
throw it at the enemy?
PILOT: Yes sir, straight at them.
COMM: Any particular reason?
PILOT: Die for the Emperor sir.
COMM: And what purpose would that serve?
PILOT: Make the enemy feel guilty sir.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
The BBC approved the making of the pilot on 1st March 1977,
and by 4th April Douglas had finished the first script: it was essentially the Hitchhiker's script that we know now - with a couple of exceptions, the longest and most striking of which is the `parallel universes' speech of Ford's (see pages 43-44), which gives the gradually eroded rationale for Ford rescuing Arthur in the first place. (Originally, it should be noted, he liked Arthur and wanted to enlist him as a fellow reporter for the Guide; by the time Douglas came to write the computer game, all Ford
wanted to do was return Arthur's towel and get out before the planet was demolished.) There was also a much longer dialogue between Arthur and Prosser, the Council representative, which was wisely cut, as the style of humour owed more to Monty
Python than to Adams himself.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
PROSSER: But you found the notice, didn't you?
ARTHUR: Yes. It was on display in the bottom of a locked
filingcabinet stuck in a disused lavatory with a sign
on the door saying `Beware of the Leopard'. Ever
thought of going into advertising?
PROSSER: It's not as if it's a particularly nice house anyway.
ARTHUR: I happen rather to like it.
PROSSER: Mr Dent, you may choose to scoff at Local
Government.
ARTHUR: Me? I wasn't scoffing.
PROSSER: I said you may choose to scoff at Local
Government.
ARTHUR: Alright, maybe I was a bit.
PROSSER: May I continue?
ARTHUR: Yes alright.
PROSSER: You may choose to scoff at Local Government...
ARTHUR: Is this you continuing?
PROSSER: Yes! I said....
ARTHUR: Ah, I'm sorry, it's just that it sounded more like you saying the same thing again.
PROSSER: Mr Dent!
ARTHUR: Hello? Yes?
PROSSER: Have you any idea how much damage that
bulldozer would suffer if I just let it roll straight
over you?
ARTHUR: How much?
PROSSER: None at all.
- Hitchhiker's pilot radio script.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
From April to August there were a number of delays. The pilot episode was made, but after that it was mainly a waiting game-the waiting in question being caused by the upper echelons of the BBC taking summer holidays, which meant that the committees, bodies and groups who were to give the go-ahed to Hitchhiker's were unavailable. This had the effect of driving Douglas half-mad, and not paying him any money; it also had the effect of making him send the pilot script to the script editor of Dr Who, to see if any money might be forthcoming from that direction.
However, on the last day of August 1977, word came down
from the BBC hierarchy that the series of six episodes had been commissioned. Simon Brett would not be producing it: he was
leaving the BBC to go to London Weekend Television as a
producer. He recommended that Geoffrey Perkins, the most
junior of the department's producers, be given the job. And
luckily for everybody concerned, he was. .
Radio, Radio
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
NARRATOR: On this particular Thursday, something was moving
quietly through the ionosphere miles above the
surface of the planet. Only two people on the
surface of the planet were aware of it. One was a
deaf and dumb lunatic in the Amazon basin who
now leapt off a fifty-foot cliff in horror, and the
other was Ford Prefect.
- Hitchhiker's pilot radio script.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
One thing that everyone involved in the creation of Hitchhiker's is clear on is how definite Douglas Adams was on what kind of show it was he wanted: how it would sound, what it would be.
(Another thing they are clear on is that he had no idea where it was all going). But he was sure that it would be full of ideas, full of detail, experimental - a `sound collage', unlike anything done on radio before. Epoch-making. A milestone in radio comedy.
But first he had to write it.
This was not to prove as easy as it may sound.
Douglas Adams's introduction to the radio scripts book
gives an impression of this time, a period that he described as "six months of baths and peanut-butter sandwiches". Six months
spent at his mother's house in Dorset filling waste-paper baskets with sheets of half-typed paper, of relentless self-editing, of depression. He would leave notes around for himself to find with messages such as:
"If you ever get the chance to do a proper, regular job... take it."
"This is not an occupation for a healthy, growing lad" and
underneath those notes, other notes, reminding him:
"This is not written after a bad day. This is written after an average day."
After producing the pilot, Simon Brett had gone to London
Weekend Television, leaving Geoffrey Perkins in control.
Perkins, a 25-year-old Oxford graduate, had been rescued from a life in the shipping industry by an invitation to come and work in radio, and was the most junior of the Light Entertainment
producers. He knew Douglas vaguely, mainly as an
"embarrassment to the BBC at the time", but was interested
enough in the show to make a pitch for it, and, slightly to his surprise, he got it. Possibly because no one else had much idea of what the show was about, nor how to do it.
Geoffrey himself had no idea how to go about producing
Hitchhiker's, but was relieved to discover, over a meal with Douglas before the second show, that neither of them knew what they were doing. This made things much easier.
Douglas, for his part, was nervous of changing producers so soon. But if on that second show (their first) they were wary of each other, they quickly discovered that, as far as putting the show together went, their minds worked very much on the same lines, complementing each other, and working well together.
They also became good friends.
Was there anything that Douglas had panicularly wanted to
say during the first series of Hitchhiker's? "I just wanted to do stuff I thought was funny. But on the other hand, whatever I find funny is going to be conditioned by what I think about, what my concerns or preoccupations are. You may not set out to make a point, but points probably come across because they tend to be the things that preoccupy you, and therefore find a way into your writing.
"I wanted to - I say this in the introduction to the script book - I felt you could do a great deal more with sound than I had heard being done of late. The people who were exploring and exploiting where you could go with sound were people in the
rock world - The Beatles, Pink Floyd, and so on.
"I had the idea of scenes of sound. That there would never be a moment at which the alien world would let up, that you would be in it for half an hour. I'm not saying we necessarily achieved that, but I think that what we achieved came about as a result of striving after that.
"We did spend an awfully long time getting the effects right, and the background atmosphere, and morchestrating all the little effects - the way Marvin spoke, and all that kind of stuff. It was taking so long we were continually having to steal studio time from other shows and pretending we were actually doing far less than we were: there was no way we could justify using that
amount of time (time doesn't actually equal money to the BBC, but it comes close - there's a complicated but dependent
relationship), so what we were doing was completely out of line with what normally happens.
"As much as anything, we were actually having to invent the process by which we worked, because nobody was doing multi-track recording, electronic effects, and so on. We went about it the wrong way at the beginning, simply because we didn't know, and then, as we began to understand it, we evolved a way to do it.
It wasn't simply doing it the wrong way and finding the right way, it was more dependent on when we were able to get bits of equipment - we didn't have any 8-track recorders to begin with, and the final version didn't come about until we had an 8-track tape recorder. After a while, I took more of a back seat, because everyone knew how to do it, but I was always there, just sticking my oar in and making trouble."
Geoffrey Perkins tells a slightly different story, explaining that, "Douglas was thrown out of the director's cubicle from about halfway through the first series onwards, because he'd get quite excited about putting bits and pieces into scenes. You'd just finish a scene and he would say, `I've been thinking. . . we should go back and do it again.'
"`Why?'
"`Because I think we should have something going Bloobledoo-bledoobledooblebloobledoobleblob! in the background. . .'
"We used to mix the programmes and cut them down, which
wasn't a great way to do it because everything had music and effects behind it. I started off in the early programmes asking what we should cut, and he'd come back with a list of odd words here and there (`the's and `and's and `but's and things) and we couldn't do that. He'd say, `But there's nothing else I want to cut!' In the end I stopped asking him. So I can come across as the vandal of the programme."
Douglas Adams had found a natural foil in Geoffrey Perkins, and the ideal Hitchhiker's producer. Perkins is currently nowhere near as well known as he should be for his work as a writer---
peformer in Radio 4's seminal comedy RadioActive and BBC2's
KYTV. He is smaller than Douglas Adams, wears spectacles with brightly coloured frames, and is a perfectionist. He was probably the only Radio 4 producer who would spend two days simply
getting a sound effect right, and one of the few people who could bully, exhort and cajole scripts out of Douglas, and get them almost on time.
The show was something very different. In the past (and
today, for that matter) as a rule a radio comedy show is rehearsed in an afternoon, recorded in front of an audience that evening, then edited the following day before being broadcast. Not only was Hitchhiker's not recorded in front of an audience (as
Geoffrey Perkins has pointed out, all they would have seen was an empty stage, a number of actors hiding in cupboards, and
some microphone leads), it was put together with almost lapidary detail, using (albeit in a somewhat Heath Robinson fashion) the miracles of the BBC Radiophonic Workshop, lots of tape, and
scissors.
Douglas Adams says of Perkins's role, "As producer on a
show of that kind, he was a very crucial and central part of it.
When I was writing the script, he was the person I would go and argue with about what I was going to have in it and what I
wasn't. I'd do the script and he'd say, `This bit's good and that bit's tat.' He'd come up with casting suggestiorls. And he'd come up with his own ideas about what to do with bits that weren't working. Like throw them out. Or suggestions about how I
could rewrite. I'd be guided by him, or by the outcome of the argument.
"One of Geoffrey's strengths is that he is very good at
casting. In some cases, I had very specific ideas about casting, and in other cases I had none. Where I had ideas we'd follow them or argue, and I'd win or he'd win. When we were in production I'd be there, but at that point it was very much a producer's show.
"The producer gives instructions to the actors, and generally if you have anything you want to say, or suggestions or
disagreements or points you want to make, then you'd say it to Geoffrey, and he'd decide whether or not to ignore it. Vary rarely do you as a writer actually start giving instructions to the actors; it's protocol. To be honest, I'd sometimes step over it, but you can't have more than one person in charge. When I wrote the
script I was in charge, but when it was made, Geoffrey was in charge, and the final decisions were his, right or wrong. But we rapidly arrived at a working relationship there. Sometimes we'd get very annoyed at each other, and sometimes we'd have a really terrific time - it's exactly the sort of working relationship you would expect."
Perkins says of his involvement with Hitchhiker's, " It's
really impossible to say how much involvement I had in the
story. We used to have meetings and talk grand designs - abortive plots which never quite worked out. It's a blur of lunches. I changed gerbils to mice because Douglas's ex-girlfriend kept gerbils..."
The first episode casting had been done by Douglas with
Simon Brett, crucial casting since it involved the roles of Arthur Dent, Ford Prefect and The Book.
The making of the series is covered so well by Geoffrey
Perkins's notes in the Original Radio Scirpts book that it seems redundant to cover the ground again. (Go out and buy a copy of '
the book if you want to know what happened - you'll get two
introductions, lots of notes, and the complete texts of the first two radio series. Well, almost complete. There are bits in this book that aren't in there. But you've already got this book.) (This may prove problematical as the Radio Srripts book is currently out of print.) The BBC were unsure what they had on their hands: a
comedy, without a studio audience, to be broadcast in stereo; the first radio science fiction since Journey into Space in the 1950s; half an hour of semantic and philosophical jokes about the
meaning of life and ear-inserted fish? They did the only decent thing and put it out at 10.30 on Wednesday evenings, when they hoped nobody would be listening, with no pre-publicity, and
expected it to uphold Radio 4's reputation for obscurity.
They were undoubtedly surprised when it didn't. After the
first episode was broadcast, Douglas went into the BBC to look at the reviews. It was pointed out to him that radio almost never got reviews, and that an unpublicised science fiction comedy series was less likely to get reviews than the shipping forecast.
That Sunday, two national newspapers carried favourable reviews of the first show, to the amazement of everybody except Douglas and the listeners.
The series rapidly began to pick up a following, accumulating an enormous audience chiefly by word of mouth - people who
liked it told their friends. Science fiction fans liked it because it was science fiction(In addition to its other awards, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy was placed second in the 1979 Hugo Awards for best dramatic presentation, losing to Superman 1. The awards were made at thc World SF Convention, held that year in Brighton, England. When the awards announcements were made, the crowd hissed thc winner and cheered Hitchhiker's. Christophcr Reeve, collecting the trophy, suggested that the awards had been fixed, whereupon a roar of agreement went up in the hall. It is a safe bet that if a few more Americans had heard of the show then it would have won); humour fans liked it because it was funny, radio fans got off on the quality of the stereo production; Radiophonics Workshop fans doubtless had a great time ("They talk a lot about the `wizardry of the Radiophonies Workshop' but ninety-five pereent of the first series was natural sound. And I had no idea about sound... at the end of the fourth episode I had the most wonderful explosion-the whole episode built up to it. It sounded magnificent in the studio. Then when it was broadexst the compression hit it and cut most of it out" - Geoffrey Perkins.); and most people liked it because it was accessible, fast, and funny.
By the time the sixth episode had been broadcast, the show
had become a cult.
While the first four episodes were written by Douglas on his own, the last two were not. This came about in the following manner: Douglas had sent off the pilot script for Hitchhiker's to the Dr Who script editor earlier in the year, hoping to get a commission out of it to do some scripts. The commission came through; unfortunately, it came through at the same time that the six episodes of Hitchhiker's were commissioned, which meant that as soon as Douglas Adams had finished the first four episodes of Hitchhiker's he had to write the four episodes of a Dr Who story, The Pirate Planet.
As a result, he was facing deadline problems with the final two episodes of Hitchhiker's; he knew how Episode Six ended, but he had "run out of words". In addition, he had just been made a radio producer. He turned to his ex-flatmate, John Lloyd, for help.
Lloyd remembers: "It's odd, but Hitchhiker's was always
liked. That's the funny thing about it. It never had to struggle at all. Douglas struggled to write it, though; it took him about nine months to write the first four episodes. But everyone, from the first day, thought it was great - and the department was very conservative at the time. Anyway, after nine months Douglas was getting desperate, as he'd caught up with the deadline (and passed it, as is his wont) and they'd already started broadcasting. They were already up to programme two or three, and finally Douglas despaired.
"He rang me up and said, `Why don't you do this with me?
I think what Douglas had wanted was to prove he was a writer in his own right. In the past he had done all this stuff and people had said, `It's Chapman (or whoever)'. But now he had proved it.
"He'd just started on the fifth episode when I came in.
"I'd been working for a couple of years on a silly science
fiction book of my own, that had tons and tons of chapters, all unconnected, and I dumped it on his lap and said, `Is there
anything here you think might make a scene or two?'
"So we sat in the garage I was using for a study at that time and wrote the fifth episode together more or less line by line.
Things like the `three phases of civilisation' and the Haggunenon Death Flotilla, who evolved into different creatures, we sat down and worked it out word by word. It was actually incredibly
quick, although very painstaking. Then I was busy on production for Episode Six, so although he used stuff I wrote for it, he really put the whole thing together.
"The pressure was fantastic. We were writing it hours before it was due to be recorded. (Later on, in the second series, things got really silly: he was writing during the recording.)
"Having written the thing, that was more or less it, and it had been great fun. As Douglas said, it was a tremendous relief for him not to have to do it on his own, and we both enjoyed it, and I didn't think that much about it. It was just a job, and we'd written together before.
"By the broadcast of the first three or four episodes the place had gone absolutely mad. I think six publishing companies rang up, and four record companies (which is extraordinary with radio - usually by the time you've done six series of thirteen episodes people have just about heard of it). Hitchhiker's just went
whoosh! And Douglas and I were getting on tremendously well, and were tremendously excited. When the first publisher called we went out and bought a bottle of champagne. It was so
exciting. We were going to do the book together. And then
Douglas had second thoughts.
"He decided he had to do it on his own - he felt the first
four episodes were different in kind, and that the last two, although enjoyable enough, didn't have the same sense of
loneliness and loss and desperation that characterises Hitchhiker's in a funny way. Like Marvin, who Douglas says is Andrew
Marshall, but there is a big chunk of Douglas as well. The thing about Hitchhiker's is the wonderful bittersweet quality he gets in.
The thing is terribly sad at certain points, it really means something. And I think that he felt that the other two episodes were light by comparison."
Douglas Adams's version of these events is essentially the
same: "After the Dr Who episodes I was absolutely wiped out.I knew roughly what I wanted to do in the last two episodes so I asked John if he'd help and collaborate, and we wrote together a bit of the Milliways sequence and the Haggunenon section. And then after that I took over and did the B - Ark stuff and the prehistoric Earth stuff."
The Haggunenon sequence from Episodes Five and Six is
omitted from all later versions of the story (replaced by Disaster Area's stunt ship), although it has been used in some of the theatrical adaptations of the show.
Douglas Adams on the casting for the radio series:
PETER JONES
That was very curious. We didn't know who to cast. I
remember saying that it should be a Peter Jonesey voice, and who could we get to do a Peter Jonesey voice? We thought of all sons of people - Michael Palin, Michael Hordern, all kinds of people. Eventually Simon Brett's secretary got very annoyed hearing us talking on and on like this and not spotting the obvious. She said, "What about Peter Jones?" I thought, "Yes, that would be a way of achieving it, wouldn't it?" So we asked Peter, he was available, and he did it.
Peter was extraordinary. He always affected not to
understand what was going on at all. And he managed to
transmute his own sense of "I don't know what this is about"
into "I don't understand why this happened", which was the
keynote of his performance. He's great to work with, a very talented guy. He's never had the recognition he should have had.
He's terribly good.
He rarely met the other actors at all, because he'd be doing his bits completely separately. It was like getting session musicians in on a multi-track rock album, sitting alone in a studio doing the bass pan.
STEPHEN MOORE
He was Geoffrey Perkins's suggestion. I had no idea who to
suggest for Marvin. A wonderful actor, absolutely brilliant. Not only did he do Marvin so well, but whenever I had a character that I didn't have enough clues about, or didn't know how it should be played, we'd say, "Let's give it to Stephen and see what happens."
Stephen would find the character immediately and would
make it really excellent. One of my favourite things that he did was the Man in the Shack - I knew what the character said,
and why he said it, but I had not the faintest idea of how he would sound or what son of a voice he would have.
MARK WING-DAVEY
The thing that made me think of him for Zaphod was a pan he had in Glittering Prizes. He played a guy who was a film and television producer who always took advantage of people and was very trendy. He did that so well I thought he would be
good for Zaphod.
DAVID TATE
He was one of the backbones of the series. He can do any voice: he could, if he wanted to, be a very successful actor. He's deliberately chosen to be just a voice. He's remarkable. In Hitchhiker's he played a large number of pans and always got them spot on. He played Eddie, he played the disc jockey
`broadcasting to intelligent life-forms everywhere', he played one of the mice, one of the characters in the B - Ark. We had him there every week.
RICHARD VERNON
He's so funny. He carved himself a niche playing all sons of grandfatherly elderly types - Slartibartfast in Hitchhiker's.
He's not actually as old as he appears. I originally wrote that pan with John Le Mesurier in mind.
SUSAN SHERIDAN
It's funny, Trillian was never that well-rounded a pan. Susan never found anything major to do with the role, but that wasn't her fault, it was my fault. A succession of different people have played Trillian in different ways. It's a weak pan and that's the best I can say. She was a delight to work with.
ROY HUDD
He played the original Max Quordlepleen. He had to come into the studio and do his bit all by himself. To this day he still claims he doesn't know what it was all about...
A Slightly Unreliable Producer
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ARTHUR:Ford, I don't know if this sounds like a silly
question, but what am I doing here?
FORD: Well, you know that. I rescued you from the Earth.
ARTHUR:And what has happened to the Earth?
FORD: It's been disintegrated.
ARTHUR:Has it ?
FORD: Yes, it just boiled away into space.
ARTHUR:Look. I'm a bit upset about that.
FORD: Yes, I can understand. But there are plenty more
Earths just like it.
ARTHUR:Are you going to explain that? Or would it save
time if I just went mad now?
FORD: Keep looking at the book.
ARTHUR:What ?
FORD: "Don't Panic".
ARTHUR:I'm looking.
FORD: Alright. The universe we exist in is just one of a
multiplicity of parallel universes which co-exist in the same space but on different matter wavelengths, and in millions of them the Earth is still alive and throbbing much as you remember - or very similar at least - because every possible variation of the Earth also exists.
ARTHUR: Variation? I don't understand. You mean like a
world where Hitler won the war?
FORD: Yes. Or a world in which Shakespeare wrote
pornography, made a lot more money and got a knighthood. They all exist. Some of course with only the minutest variations. For instance, one parallel universe must contain a world which is utterly identical to yours except that one small tree somewhere in the Amazon basin has an extra leaf.
ARTHUR: So one could quite happily live on that world
without knowing the difference?
FORD: Yes, more or less. Of course it wouldn't be quite
like home with that extra leaf.
ARTHUR: Well, it's hardly going to notice.
FORD: No, probably not for a while. It would be a few
years before you really became strongly aware that something was off balance somewhere. Then you'd start looking for it and you'd probably end up going mad because you'd never be able to find it.
ARTHUR: So what do I do?
FORD: You come along with me and have a good time.
You'll need to have this fish in your ear.
ARTHUR: I beg your pardon?
- Hitchhiker's pilot radio script.
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From mid-1977 to the end of 1980 it often becomes difficult to disentangle what Douglas Adams was doing when. Even he is no longer sure. But about the time that the first Hitchhiker's radio series was broadcast, which was about the same time that The Pirate Planet was recorded, Douglas was offered a job as a radio producer in Radio 4's Light Entertainment department. He took the job. As he explains, "I felt I had to do it, because I'd set out to be a freelance writer, had one disaster after another, ended up having to be supported by my parents and so on, and I thought, `Well, here is someone offering me a solid job with a regular paycheck, which may not be exactly what I want to do, but I'm not showing any success in doing what I want to do, and this is pretty close to what I want to do; I am in trouble and I will take this job.' Also John Lloyd and Simon Brett had paved the way for me getting the job offer, and I owed it to them.
"I started as a radio producer with Hitchhiker's going out
and Dr Who shortly to go out. Everybody who starts as a radio producer has to start doing Weekending, so I produced
Weekending for a few weeks. As the most junior member of the department I was getting all the bum jobs, like a programme on the history of practical jokes which involved going out and
interviewing Max Bygraves and Des O'Connor. I thought, `What am I doing here?' But a lot of people had put themselves out to get me the job, and it was a staff job, not a contract job."
According to his contemporaries, Douglas tended to be a
slightly unreliable producer ("He tended to think you could go on forever."), but even so it came as a slight shock to the
department when, after six months, he left to become script
editor of Dr Who. This, as Simon Brett commented, put quite a few noses out of joint.
However, he returned to radio very soon after leaving it for one final production job: the Radio 4 Christmas Pantomime (Footnote for Americans, who may not undersund how a pantomime can be performed on radio: this is one of those problems you're just going to have to learn to live with.). It turned out to be the project Douglas most enjoyed from that time. It was called Black Cinderella II Goes East, and was co-produced by John Lloyd. For no particular reason, it was written and cast entirely from ex-Footlights personnel.
"It was an excuse for such an odd bunch of people - apart
from the obvious ones, we had John Cleese playing the Fairy
Godperson; Peter Cook playing Prince Disgusting and Rob
Buckman playing his brother, Prince Charming; The Goodies---
Graeme Garden, Tim Brooke-Taylor and Bill Oddie - played
the Ugly Sisters; Richard Baker, who used to play piano in
Footlights, was the narrator; and John Pardoe MP, who was then Deputy Leader of the Liberal Party, played the fairy-tale Liberal Prime Minister (on the grounds that you only get Liberal Prime Ministers in fairy-tales); Jo Kendall played the Wicked
Stepmother. . . It was terrific, but for some reason the BBC and the Radio Times gave it no publicity at all, and it was buried without a trace."
After slightly less than six months, Douglas's first proper job had come to an end.
Have Tardis, Will Travel
IT HAS ALREADY BEEN MENTIONED THAT, while Hitchhiker's was
still in the pilot stage, Douglas found himself with time on his hands, during which he needed money and work.
"So once it looked like I had a finished script I thought
Where else can I generate some work? I sent the Hitchhiker's script to the then Dr Who script editor, Bob Holmes, who
thought it was interesting and said, `Come in and see me'. This was just as Bob, who'd been script editor there for a long time, was on the verge of leaving and handing over to Tony Reed. So I met the two of them and Graham Williams, the producer, and
talked about ideas. The one I came up with that they thought was promising was The Pirate Planet, so I went away and did a bit of work on it, and they thought it was promising but there was
something wrong. So I did more reworking and took it back, and they still thought it was promising but needed more work, and this was going on for weeks, and eventually the inevitable
happened..."
The plan had been to do some Dr Who work as a fill-in until Hitchhiker's was ready to go into production, and the rest of the Hitchhiker's scripts needed to be written. As a plan, this was an abysmal failure.
At the end of August 1977, the six scripts for Hitchhiker's were commissioned. Within the week, four episodes of Dr Who
were also commissioned. This was the start of a period of non-stop work, confusion and panic that was to last for the next three years.
The Pirate Planet was a less than successful story, which
managed to mix such elements as a telepathic gestalt of yellow-robed psychics, a bionic pirate captain, a planet that ate planets, and a centuries-gone evil queen imprisoned in time stasis, into a bit of a mess. The plot elements had obviously been worked out carefully, then edited down to the point of incomprehensibility by the time they reached the screen. There were Hitchhiker's in-jokes; there were some appalling performances; there was a murderous robotic parrot. It was teeming with ideas, and might have made a fairly decent six-parter.
Douglas Adams still has a soft spot for it, as he explains, "In a way I preferred writing the Dr Who scripts to Hitchhiker's because I would be made to get the plot straight first. In The Pirate Planet, the plot was much more tightly worked out than was apparent in the final show because it had to be cut back so far in terms of time. But actually getting the mechanics to work at that time I really loved, and felt very frustrated that a lot of that didn't show in the final thing." Doubtless, if he ever did the novelisation, he would put back those elements lost in the
television screening.
The Dr Who people were impressed enough to offer Douglas
a job as script editor. He had only just been given a job as a radio producer. He did not know what to do: "I'd only just taken this job in radio, and it seemed a pretty awful thing to do to leave after six months and go to television. I got very mixed up about that - I didn't know what to do. Various people gave me
conflicting advice - some people said, `This is obviously what you must do because it's much more along the line of what you claim as your strengths', and other people said, `You can't desert radio immediately, just like that'. David Hatch said the latter to me very strongly, because he was head of the department, and he had given me the job.
"But I did take the job, and the next person to desert the
department was David Hatch, which made me feel a little better."
Remembering his experiences with The Pirate Planet,
Douglas assumed that the writing of the scripts and coming up with the ideas was the responsibility of the writer, and that the script editor's job was chiefly that of making sure that the scripts arrived and were twenty-five minutes long.
"Then I discovered that other writers assumed that getting
the storyline together was the script editor's job. So all that year I was continually working out storylines with writers, helping others with scripts, doing substantial rewrites on other scripts and putting yet other scripts into production. All simultaneously.
"It was a nightmare year - for the four months that I was in control it was terrific: having all these storylines in your head simultaneously. But as soon as you stop actually coping, then it becomes a nightmare. At that time, I was writing the book,
script-editing the next series of Dr Who, there were the stage productions of Hitchhiker's going on and the records were being made. I was writing the second series of Hitchhiker's and I was very close to blowing a fuse at the time. I was also doing some radio production with John Lloyd. The work overload was
absolutely phenomenal."
The overload was also reflected in Douglas's dissatisfaction with Dr Who at that time: "The crazy thing about Dr Who, one of the things that led to my feelings of frustration, was doing twenty-six episodes a year with one producer and one script
editor. It's a workload unlike any other drama series; if you are doing a police series, say, you know what a police car looks like, what the streets look like, what criminals do. With Dr Who, with every story you have to reinvent totally, but be entirely
consistent with what's gone before. Twenty-six shows, each of which has to be new in some extraordinary way, was a major
problem. And there was no money to do it with: in real terms Dr Who's budget has been shrinking, but somehow or other you
have to deliver the goods. Twenty-six a year is too many. I was going out of my tiny mind."
Douglas wrote three Dr Who stories, although only two
were actually screened (Four, if you count Dr Who and the Krikkitmen. See the chapter on Life, the Universe and Everything for further details.). The first was The Pirate Planet. The second was The City of Death, co-written with Graham
Williams, the producer. The third is the legendary `lost' Dr Who story, Shada (BBC Enterprises finally released all available material on video in 1992, accompanicd by the original script.).
The City of Death was broadcast under the departmental
pseudonym of `David Agnew', and was writcen in the following circumstances:
"When I was script editor, one of our regular stalwart writers (who we'd left alone as he was a reliable guy) turned out to have been having terrible family problems - his wife had left him, and he was in a real turmoil. He'd done his best, but he didn't have a script that was going to work, and we were in deep trouble. This was Friday, and the producer came to me and said, `We've got a director coming on Monday, we have to have a new four-episode show by Monday!' So he took me back to his place, locked me in his study and hosed me down with whisky and black coffee for a few days, and there was the script. Because of the peculiar
circumstances and Writers' Guild laws, it meant that it had to go out under the departmental name of David Agnew. It was set in Paris and had all sorts of bizarre things in it, including a guest appearance by John Cleese in the last episode."
The City of Death, in contrast to Douglas's first script, was an adult and intelligent script, in which little was redundant or unnecessary. The humour is never forced, and it is obviously being written by a Dr Who veteran, not a newcomer. In addition to the cameo appearances of John Cleese and Eleanor Bron in the last episode, it contains no less than seven Mona Lisas (all of which are genuine, although six have `This is a fake' written underneath the paint in felt pen), and life on Earth having been created by the explosion of an alien spaceship (something the Doctor must go back in time to prevent being prevented). It also contains a detective. That Douglas still has high regard for this story can be seen from the fact that certain plot elements were reused in Douglas's first non-Hitchhiker's novel, Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency, as were some elements of Shada, a six-part story that was abandoned halfway through the production because of industrial problems (strikes).
"Once you get beyond a certain point it becomes more
expensive to remount the thing than it is to do the whole
production again from the word go. That's because when you are casting, you're doing it from who's available - when you
remount, you have to cast the people you've already got, and this becomes terribly difflcult."
Shada was a return to Cambridge for Douglas and the
Doctor, featuring a retired Time Lord whose TARDIS was his
study, and a book that held the secrets to the Time Lord prison planet. The scripts for Shada (especially in early drafts) show an amusing and intelligent show - although Adams's script is far more comfortable with the temporal confusion of Professor
Chronotis than with the villains, or, indeed, the plot. (The character of Chronotis, the retired Time Lord, is something else that Douglas would resurrect for Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency.)
Adams aroused resentment from many of the shows hard---
core fans, who criticise his stint as script editor for resulting in a show that was too silly, self-indulgent, and more like a comedy than Dr Who should be. Tom Baker's Doctor, even more than
Patrick Troughton's, was a cosmic clown, always ready with a whimsical remark in the face of danger.
Adams disagrees with this: "I think it's slightly unfair. In the things I wrote for Dr Who, there were absurd things that
happened in it, and funny things. But I feel that Dr Who is
essentially a drama show, and only secondarily amusing. My aim was to create apparently bizarre situations and then pursue the logic so much that it became real. So on the one hand, someone behaves in an interesting, and apparently outrageous way, and you think at first that it's funny. Then you realise that they mean it, and that, at least to my mind, begins to make it more gripping and terrifying.
"The trouble is that as soon as you produce scripts with
some humour in them, there is a temptation on the part of the people making the show to say, `This is a funny bit. Let's pull out the stops, have fun, and be silly.' One always knows as soon as someone says that that they are going to spoil it.
"So those episodes of Dr Who weren't best served by that
way of doing the shows. I can understand people saying, `They weren't taking it seriously', but in writing it I was taking it terribly seriously. It's just that the way you make something work is to do it for real. . . I hate the expression `tongue-in-cheek'; that means `It's not really funny, but we aren't going to do it properly'."
Douglas worked on Dr Who for fifteen months. During the
course of this time, he wrote the first Hitchhiker's book, the second radio series, the theatrical adaptation, produced Black Cinderella II Goes East, and acted as script editor, writer and rewrite man for the Doctor. At the end of this time he had, much to his and no doubt everyone else's surprise, not gone mad,
become prone to fits or to throwing himself off tall buildings. By this time, Hitchhiker's was enough of a success for Douglas to give up the only proper job he had held for more than a few
months.
So he did.
SHORTLY AFTER THE HITCHHIKER'S RADIO SERIES first went on the air, Douglas Adams and John Lloyd were approached by New
English Library and Pan Books, both prominent English
paperback publishers, about doing a book of the series. After lunching with both of them, a deal was agreed with Pan; chiefly because they liked Nick Webb, the editor who approached them.(Nick Webb left Pan almost immediately, embarking on a game of musical publishers that would take him, in traditional publishing fashion, around most major British paperback publishers.) The book was to start out on an unhappy note. Douglas had
never written a book before, and, feeling nervous about it, had asked John Lloyd to collaborate on it.
John had agreed. As he tells it: "I'd been working in radio very hard for five years, and had gotten bored with it - I could see myself a crusty old radio producer at ninety - so l was very excited about the prospect of doing this book together. Then one night we had rather a strange conversation. Douglas said to me, Why don t you write your own novel?' I said, `But we're writing this Hitchhiker's book together...', and he said, `I think you should write your own.'
"The next day I got his letter saying, `I've thought about it very hard and I want to do the thing on my own. It's a struggle but I want to do it my own, lonely way.' It was the most fantastic shock - as if the bottom had dropped out of my whole life.
We'd been trying to write together for so long that when this letter came I simply could not believe it. Even the fact that he'd written the letter at all seemed amazing, seeing that we went down the pub every night, and, as Douglas was at that time a radio producer in the office next door to me, we worked six
inches away from each other.
"Looking back, I can't see why I reacted like that. It seems the most natural thing in the world for Douglas to have done it alone and 1 don't think Hitchhiker's would have been the success it was if we had written it together. I genuinely feel that.
"But at the time, I was shocked. I didn't speak to Douglas for two days, and I seriously considered getting a solicitor, and suing him for breach of contract. Then I met him in town a few days later. He said, `How's it going?' I said, `You'll be hearing from my legal representative'.
"Douglas was appalled! He thought I was over-reacting; I
thought he was insensitive. These are the kinds of things that start wars. . .
"I saw an agent, and explained to him that we had agreed to the contract, and on the strength of that I'd drunk a lot of champagne, spent the money, and now wanted redress. My agent phoned Douglas's and made some fantastic demand: he said he
wanted $2000 now, and 10% of Hitchhiker's in perpetuity, so
whenever the name The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy was
used I'd get 10%. When he told me about this I was shocked - I hadn't wanted anything like that!
"At the time everyone, even Douglas's agent, thought that he was in the wrong. Even his mum. Then I ran into Douglas, and he.
said, `What are you doing?' I said, `You told me to get an agent!'
He said, `Yes, I told you to get an agent to write your own
bloody book - not to sue me for mine!'
"Eventually we did a deal, whereby I took half of the
advance, and that was the end of it.
"But we had booked a holiday in Greece that September to
write the book together, and I had nowhere else to go. So, despite all that had happened, I went on holiday with Douglas. He stayed in his room and wrote The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and I went down to the bar and the beach and had a good time.
Douglas showed me the first version of his first chapter, and I read it, and it was a Vonnegut novel.I told him that, and he tore it up and started again, and after that it started to come good. I have always thought the books were the best bits of Hitchhiker's by miles: you could see that they are so original, and so different that it was obvious that he had made the right decision.
(A number of other things occurred on this holiday, the most notable of which was the creation of what was to become The
meaning of Liff. But that will be told in its place.)
As Douglas explains, "It was very silly. On the one hand I
thought, `It might be a nice idea to collaborate', and on sober reflection I thought, `No, I can do it myself'. It was my own project, and I had every right to say, "No, I'll do it myself'. John had helped me out, and been very well rewarded for the work. I rashly talked about collaborating, and changed my mind. I was within my rights, but I should have handled it better.
"You see, on the one hand, Johnny and I are incredibly good friends, and have been for ages. But on the other hand, we are incredibly good at rubbing each other up the wrong way. We
have these ridiculous fights when I'm determined to have a go at him, and he is determined to have a go at me. So... I think it was an over-reaction on his part, but on the other hand the entire history of our relationship has been one or the other over-reacting to something the other has done."
So Douglas wound up receiving a $1500 advance for his first book. (He would get over five hundred times that amount as an advance for his fifth novel.)
When the series had started, BBC Publications were offered
the idea of doing the book, and quite sensibly turned it down.
After the contracts were signed with Pan, BBC Publications
asked to see the scripts, since it had occurred to them that they might possibly do a book of Hitchhiker s. On being told that Pan had already bought the book rights BBC Publications asked
bitterly why the book had not been offered to them.
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ARTHUR: You know, I can't quite get used to the feeling that just because I've spent all my life on the Earth I am
therefore an ignorant country bumpkin.
TRILLIAN: Don't worry Arthur, it's just a question of
perspective.
ARTHUR: But if I suddenly accosted a spider I found crawling under my bed, and tried to explain to this innocent
spider in its spider world all about the Common
Market, or New York, or the history of Indo
China....
TRILLIAN: What?
ARTHUR: It would think I'd gone mad.
TRILLIAN: Well?
ARTHUR: It's not just perspective, you see.I'm trying to make a point about the basic assumptions of life.
TRILLIAN: Oh.
ARTHUR: You see?
TRILLIAN: I prefer mice to spiders anyway.
ARTHUR: Is there any tea on this spaceship?
- Dialogue cut from the first series
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As with everything Douglas had done, the book was late.
Apocryphal stories have grown up about Douglas Adams's
almost superhuman ability to miss deadlines. Upon close
inspection, they all appear to be true.
The story about the first book is this: after he had been
writing it for as long past the deadline as he could get away with, Pan Books telephoned Douglas and said, "How many pages have
you done?"
He told them.
"How long have you got to go?"
He told them.
"Well," they said, making the best of a bad job, "Finish the page you are on, and we'll send a motorbike round to pick it up in half an hour."
Many people have complained that the first book ends rather abruptly. That is the main reason why, although it is also true that Douglas knew he was going to have to keep the radio
Episodes Five and Six (which he was still less than happy with) back for the end of the second book. If there was a second book.
Meanwhile, Pan were going through the normal pre---
production actions of publishing: getting covers designed,
accumulating quotes from celebrities to put on the covers,
wondering how many copies they would sell.
The initial print run of 60,000 copies betrayed a healthy
optimism about sales, and showed that the publishers knew they were not dealing with just a new science fiction book (for which an initial print run is more like 10,000), but with something slightly special. The earliest promoted cover design showed a Flash Gordon-type in a bulky spacesuit with his thumb stuck
out, holding a sign that said, in crude letters `ALPHA
CENTAURI'. It was not used, although it was distributed on
fliers at the 1979 World Science Fiction Convention.
Douglas had suggested a number of people who might be
willing to give cover blurbs for Hitchhiker's to Pan. These
included the Monty Python team, Tom Baker (then Dr Who), and science fiction writers Christopher Priest and John Brunner.
None of these blurbs were ever used, although Terry Jones
from Python turned in at least a page of possible quotes. These included:
The funniest book I have ever read, today. Terry Jones
Every word is a gem... it's only the order they're put in that worries me. Terry Jones
Space age comedy for everone... except for (insert the name of the man who writes worse poetry than the Vogons and whose
name I can't remember). Terry Jones
Probably the funniest book in the universe. Terry Jones \*
\*dictated by D. Adams.
One of the funniest books ever to have quoted what I said
about it on the cover. Terry Jones.
In the end the only quotes used were in some press releases:
Really entenaining and fun. John Cleese
and
It changed my whole life. It's literally out of this world. Tom Baker
The final cover design, by Hipgnosis and lan Wright, better
known for their record covers than their book covers, was ideal, and provided a uniformity of design with the first record, which was released at the same time as the book, during the second week of October 1979. The front cover showed the title in `friendly' red letters, and on the back the words `DON'T PANIC' appeared, in a similar, colour-videoscreen-style typeface.
It is worth commenting here on the anomalies of the title.
The mould was cast by Adams, on his original three-page outline for the series, which was titled THE HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE
TO THE GALAXY (with hyphen) but referred to the book as
THE HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE (without hyphen) throughout.
The cover of the first book included the hyphen, but lost the apostrophe, while the spine, back and insides wrote Hitch and Hiker's as two words. The tradition continues to the present day.
British copies of So Long, and Thanks For All the Fish, for
example, hyphenated HitchHiker on the cover, but wrote it
Hitch Hiker inside; while the radio scripts book hyphenated all the way through, except at the back, where advertisements appear for the book under both titles, with hyphens and without.
In America, the problem is very sensibly avoided by
referring to it as Hitchhiker (without a hyphen, and making it into one word). The matter will not be referred to again.
The book went straight to number one on the bestseller lists, and stayed there. This surprised a number of people, not least Douglas Adams: "Nobody thought that radio had that much
impact, but it does. I think a radio audience has a greater overlap with a solid reading audience than television does. All power to radio, it's a good medium."
Within the next three months, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy sold over a quarter of a million copies. Douglas sent a note to booksellers when sales reached 185,000:
"I can only assume that you have all been giving away pound notes with every copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, or possibly even sending press gangs out into the streets,
because I have just been officially notified that the sales have now passed the point of being merely absurd and have now
moved into the realms of the ludicrous. Whatever you have
been doing to get rid of them, thank you very much."
Although later Douglas was to express dissatisfaction with the instant success of the first book ("It was like going from foreplay to orgasm with nothing in the middle - where do you go after that?"), at the time he was jubilant.
The beauty of Hitchhiker's was that it came at just the right time. The success of Star Wars and Close Encounters of the Third Kind had created a willingness among the public to regard science fiction as an acceptable form of entertainment; science fiction readers had long been in need of something that was actually funny; and the radio audience who picked up the book
discovered very quickly that there was far more in the first book than there had been in the radio series (in fact, it can come as something of a surprise, relistening to the original radio series, to discover quite how many of the more familiar aspects of
Hitchhiker's were not in it - towels, for example). The book garnered rave reviews. Douglas found himself compared to Kurt Vonnegut, (a comparison that was to persist until the release of Vonnegut's Galapagos in 1985, at which point some reviewers
stated comparing Vonnegut, slightly unfavourably, to Douglas Adams), and the book found itself on many critics' `year's best'
lists for 1979.
If the radio series had been a cult success, then the book took Hitchhiker's beyond that, to a place in the popular consciousness.
It was not long before a lot of people found their perceptions of towels, white mice and the number Forty-Two had undergone a
major readjustment.
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WHY WAS HITCHHIKER'S SO SUCCESSFUL?
John Lloyd:
"It's what William Goldman, in his book Adventures in the
Screen Trade calls a non-recurrent phenomenon. Before
Hitchhiker's came along there was no reason why it should, and once it's there it seems the perfect idiom for its time. I don't know why, but it catches the spirit of the moment. The title says it all for me - with hitchhiking and galaxies you have this
curious mixture of post-hippie sensibilities and being interested in high tech, digital technology and all that stuff. But it's impossible to say why Hitchhiker's is so successful - it's just one of these great original products of a diseased mind. It makes no concessions to popularity, it just gets on and does it. Not once has Douglas toned the thing down so it would sell more copies.
Douglas really was as surprised by its success as anyone - he had no idea whether it was any good or not. He used to sit around going, `Is this good? Is this funny? What do you think of this script?' He really didn't know. But you can't explain it. And because you can't, you can't write another book like it. And that's what makes it a work of genius."
Jacqueline Graham (Press officer, Pan Books):
"Because it was such a wholly original idea, and you don't get too many of those. And because it was funny, but intelligently funny.
And because it started as a sort of cult thing. Mostly because it's so original, and secondly because it makes you laugh."
Geoffrey Perkins:
"I know at the time we made the radio series I felt that it was the logical successor to Monty Python, really. There's no doubt that Hitchhiker's appeals to the same kind of audience and has the same sort of comedy. That was an initial reason for the success.
The title plays an important part. Somebody once described it in an article as `a programme somewhat clumsily entitled The
Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy', which is a very erroneous judgement. I knew it hit a nerve from the start, when the letters started pouring in. The timing was obviously good. It was Star Wars time, there was a lot of interest in space. Also, when people think of space they tend to think of something very comic-strip and here was something very erudite and witty. That surprised people. But it appealed to everyone. The intellectuals compared it to Swift, and the fourteen-year-olds enjoyed hearing depressed robots clanking around."
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All the Galaxy's a Stage
THERE HAVE BEEN THREE major productions of Hitchhiker's in the theatrical world. Two of these have been successful. The other was a disaster of epic proportions. It is somewhat unfortunate, in this case, that the disaster is the one that got noticed. The first production was put on at the ICA [Institute for Contemporary Arts] in London on 1st-9th May 1979; presented by Ken
Campbell's Science Fiction Theatre Company of Liverpool.
`Staged' might be the wrong word for this production. The actors performed on little ledges and platforms, while the audience, seated on a scaffolded auditorium that floated around the ICA on air skates, filled with compressed air, was pushed around the hall at the height of 1/2000th of an inch by hardworking stage hands.
The 90-minute-long show was a great success.
Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters were on sale in the bar, and, for the 80 people who fitted into Mike Hust's airborne seating
system, it was a great evening. Unfortunately, every hour brought 150 phone calls for tickets, all doomed to failure as the 640 tickets for the show's run had been sold out long before it opened.
(Apparently an organisation with the same initials as the ICA, the International Communications Association, got so fed up with misrouted calls for tickets that they wound up closing their switchboard for a week, and stopped Communicating.)
The reviews were unanimous in their praise. A typical review from The Guardian having praised the costumes and hovercraft, stated, "Chris Langham is an utterly ordinary Arthur... and is thus a beautiful counterpart to the cunning Ford (Richard Hope), the two-headed schizophrenic Beeblebrox (Mitch Davies and
Stephen Williams, as a space-age version of a pantomime horse with two heads, two legs, and three hands) and the pyrotechnics of Campbell's production." At the time it was announced that they were hoping to revive the show "as soon as they could find a hall large enough to accommodate a 500 seater hovercraft".
This was, it should be borne in mind, before the publication of the book or the release of the first record, when nobody knew how much of a cult success Hitchhiker's was or was going to be.
The next performance began life some 300 miles due west in
the Theatr Clwyd, a Welsh theatre company. Director Jonathan Petherbridge had taken the scripts of the first radio series and transformed them into a play, performed around Wales from 15th January until 23rd February 1980.
Announced as the `First Staged Production of Douglas
Adams's Original Radio Scripts' the company would either
perform two episodes an evening, or, on certain long evenings, the entire three hours of script in `blockbuster' performances, during which `essential space rations' were handed out to the audience at half-hourly intervals. (Not only did the bar sell Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters, but the Coffee Lounge sold Algolian
Zylbatburgers.) The Theatr Clwyd performance was so successful that they were offered the opportunity to take their production to London's prestigious Old Vic Theatre. Unfortunately, by this time Douglas had offered the stage rights to Ken Campbell, who had decided to stage another production at the Rainbow Theatre in London, a rock venue that seated 3,000 people, in August.
Douglas Adams, displaying perfect hindsight, says, "I should have known better, but I had so many problems to contend with at that time I really wasn't thinking clearly. The thing at the Rainbow was a fiasco."
Douglas wrote additional material for the play (including the Dish of the Day sequence in Milliways, which subsequently
found its way into the literary and televisual version of the show).
An article appeared in The Stage, the theatrical newspaper, about the Rainbow production, in July 1980:
"A five-piece band backs the twenty-strong cast of The
Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, a musical (No, it wasn't a musical, although there was a backing group) based on the radio series that opens at the Rainbow for an e week run on July 16th 1980. Production has a $300,000 budget, and the front of the Rainbow will be redesigned as an intergalactic spaceport. Tickets $5, $4 and $3.
"The foyer of the theatre is being converted into the control deck of a spaceship, with banks of video screens, flying saucers hanging from the ceiling, and possibly a talking computer to advise passengers when the trip is going to begin. There will be usherettes dressed like aliens - `Probably coloured green', says co-producer Richard Dunkley - and a `space bar' selling
galactic-sized burgers and the now famous Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster.
"One of the diversions will be rock musician Rick Wakeman
soaring down from the roof on a flying saucer and dressed like the legendary Mekon, SF's most endearing little green man.
"This week workmen installed a vast revolving stage while
others completed a backdrop for the day the Earth gets
demolished.
"In California, the people who brought the Laserium to the
London Planetarium were devising a spectacular new bag of
tricks. Co-producer Philip Tinsley said, `This will be the first show since Rocky Horror to appeal directly to young people'."
As the publicity for the show gained momentum a 25-foot
inflatable whale was thrown off Tower Bridge into the Thames, and made almost no splash in terms of news. ("'The police were very, very cross", said The Standard in the 3/4 of an inch they devoted to it.)
Then the show opened.
In retrospect this may have been a mistake. Such descriptions as "I cannot imagine a more tedious way to spend an evening
(Daily Mail), "clumsy without ever being cheerful" (Time Out), "embarrassing" (Observrer), "never-ending and extremely boring"
(Standard) melt into insignificance when placed beside the actual reviews, most of which dissected the show with fine and sharp scalpels and left nothing wholesome behind. A fairly average example of the put-downs was Michael Billington's in The
Guardian, which stated that, "What happens on the Rainbow
stage is certainly inchoate and barely comprehensible... Ken Campbell has directed this junk-opera and I can only say he gave us infinitely more fun in the days of his Roadshow when the
highlight used to be a man stuffing a ferret down his trousers."(The man who stuffed the ferrets down his trousers was Sylvester McCoy, later the seventh televisual Dr Who.) What went wrong? A number of things. The length, for one.
The laser beams, sound effects and backing band for another.
What was almost universally acknowledged as appalling acting for a third.
Douglas Adams explained it as, "The size of the Rainbow - a 3,000 seater theatre - and, because Hitchhiker s tends to be rather slow-moving and what is important is all the detail on the way. . .
you put it in something that size and the first thing that goes out the window is all the detail. So you then fill it up with earthquake effects and lasers and things. That further swamps the detail and so everything was constantly being pushed in the wrong direction and all the poor actors were stuck on the stage trying desperately to get noticed by the audience across this vast distance. If you'd put the numbers we were getting into a West End theatre they would have been terrific audiences - 700 a night, or whatever.
But 700 people isn't much when the producers are paying for
3,000 seats. So the whole thing was a financial disaster."
Ken Campbell, a man almost impossible to get hold of,
claimed the reason for the success of the ICA and failure of the Rainbow was simpler than that. "In the ICA we put everybody
on a hovercraft. We just never found a hovercraft big enough for the Rainbow", he told me in the shortest interview I did for this book.(That was it.)
Four weeks into the run the show was in financial difficulties.
On 20th August The Standard reported co-producer
Dunkley as saying, "I think we should struggle on. The cast and crew agree with me, and a certain number of them agreed to wait for their money. We had a very negative press, and it wasn t known at the beginning how many Hitchhiker's fans there were."
The next day, however, The Standard reported that, "Last night the big musical (It wasn't a musical, honestly.) version of the cult radio show did not go on and after playing at times to twenty percent capacity [ie. 600
people] its season has been ended three weeks prematurely.
Richard Dunkley reported that everybody concerned had lost a lot of money, but it was impossible to say how much."
It is easy to be wise after the event, but it would appear that the biggest mistake was that of trying to create a Cult Success.
You don't gain a cult following for something big and bold and heavily hyped: a smaller, less flashy, less expensive production might well have succeeded where the galumphing Rainbow
production failed.
As indeed, it has. Helping the fans and public to get over the Rainbow disaster was the Theatr Clwyd production. It surfaced again quietly a year later, and has been regularly and successfully staged since. This production, which, alone of all post `79
versions includes the Haggunenon sequence, and indeed actually has an inflatable Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal, is uniformly popular with critics and public alike, and will, one hopes, still be revived and performed when the Rainbow fiasco has completely been forgotten.
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FORD AND ZAPHOD: Zaglabor astragard!
Hootrimansion Bambriar!
Bangliatur Poosbladoooo!
ARTHUR: What the hell are you doing?
FORD: It's an ancient Betelgeuse death anthem. It
means, after this, things can only get better.
THEY START TO SING AGAIN.
THE COMPUTER BANK EXPLODES.
END CREDITS.
- alternative version.
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"Childish, Pointless, Codswalloping
Drivel..."
ON MONDAY, 21ST JANUARY 1980, at 10.30 pm, the second series of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy went on the air. It was heralded by a cover feature in the BBC television and radio
listings magazine, Radio Times - it is almost unheard of for a radio programme to get such exposure, despite the name of the magazine - and the five episodes were broadcast at the same
time every evening through the week.
This caused problems.
To begin with, as already detailed at length, in 1979 Douglas was under a great deal of pressure as far as other work
commitments were concerned, and his normal tendency to put
off writing until the last deadline had safely passed was displayed in full when it came to getting the scripts written. However, when he had agreed to produce the second radio series, Geoffrey
Perkins had taken this into account.
Perkins went on holiday in September 1979, and before
leaving spoke to David Hatch, controller of Radio 4, about the new series. Hatch wanted to know if they could have the second series of Hitchhiker's ready to be broadcast in January.
There had already been a seventh episode of Hitchhiker's, the `Christmas Special', recorded on 20th November 1978, and
broadcast on Christmas Eve. It had been recorded as a one-off, but had basically taken the plot strands from the end of Episode Six (ie. everybody was either stranded back in time with no hope of ever returning, or had been eaten by a carbon-copy of the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal), and had started them off in a different direction, which involved Zaphod's mysterious quest to find the guy who was running the universe. ("This Christmas Programme was basically done by my moving into Douglas's flat.
He scribbled upstairs, and I was downstairs typing. That's how we got that together" - Geoffrey Perkins.)
Fit the Eighth, the first episode of the second series, reunited Zaphod, Ford and Arthur. Recording of the second series had
begun in May 1979, so Hatch's request for the show to begin in January 1980 was not really that unreasonable. Geoffrey Perkins thought it was a good idea: "We were working on them at a fairly leisurely pace, and I said, `Yes'. We needed a deadline, or we could have gone on till the crack of doom. I thought, `We'll have made three episodes by then, and we'll do the rest of them over the next five weeks.'
"Then I went on holiday. I came back to find David had done a deal with the Radio Times - they would put us on the front cover if all the shows went out in a week. It was madness, really."
The second radio series was onerous for everybody. For
Douglas Adams it was especially difficult: "I was terrified of doing the second series, because the first time it was just me in my own private little world writing this thing. Nobody expected it to be any good. The second series, the eyes of the world were upon me. It was like running down the street naked, because it had suddenly become everyone else's property as well."
Due to the deadlines there was another problem: much of the second series was a first draft. For the first series, Douglas had written and rewritten, self-editing mercilessly. On the second series, there simply wasn't the time. While Fit the Eighth had been started on 19th May 1979, Fit the Twelfth was still being mixed shortly before it was due to be broadcast, on 25th January 1980.
The recordings soon reached the point at which the cast had caught up with the author: "They were recording part of the show in one part of the studio, while I was in another part of the studio actually writing the next scene. And this escalated to the point where the last show was being mixed in Maida Vale about half an hour before it was due to be broadcast from Broadcasting House.
At which point the tape got wound round the capstan, and they had to take the tape recorder apart to unwind it, then get it onto a motorbike to be taken to Broadcasting House. At one point, we nearly sent them the first half of the tape, then we were going to unwind the second half and get it down to Broadcasting House before they had finished playing the first half. Geoffrey Perkins, Paddy Kingsland and Lisa Braun all deserved medals for that!"
The reviews for the series were almost all excellent, despite the fact that many of the reviewers had only heard extracts from the six episodes (due to the fact that the bits they didn't hear hadn't yet been mixed but no-one was going to tell the reviewers that...).
The only voice raised against the series came from Mr Arthur Butterworth, who wrote to the Radio Times, saying, "In just
about 50 years of radio and latterly TV listening and watching, this strikes me as the most fatuous, inane, childish, pointless, codswallopping drivel... It is not even remotely funny."
The Radio Times cover feature was a source of satisfaction to the cast and crew, but an irritant to Geoffrey Perkins, who felt the article was abysmal and overwritten, and requested that
certain changes be made in it before it was printed "to prevent us all from looking like idiots."
A discussion on Radio 3's Critics' Forum programme found
the panel of critics ranged between enthusiasm and bafflement.
Perhaps the most perceptive comment was that of Robert
Cushman, the chairman, who said "[Hitchhiker's has...] the sort of effect that a Monty Python programme actually has, of making everything that appears immediately after it on radio or television or whatever, seem absolutely ludicrous. It does have that
marvellous cleansing thing about it."
The second radio series contained some excellent sequences, some of which, like the body debit cards and the robot disco, have not been repeated elsewhere. Other sections were unwieldy and overly strung out: the shoe material, for example, which correctly merited about half a page when it appeared in book form. Overall, though, it was less successful than the first series; something Douglas planned to sort out when he wrote the second book.
Level 42
WHEN THE PAPERBACK OF The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
appeared, the last page, instead of carrying the usual
advertisements for other titles by the same publisher, carried an advert that read:-
"DON'T PANIC!
"Megadodo publications, in association with Original
Records, brought (sic) you the Double L.P. of the radio series.
Fill out the form and send it off, with your cheque or postal order attached..."
Despite the fact that it might well have meant the loss of
Chapter 35 (on the back of which the advert was printed), a large number of people sent off for their mail-order copies of a record called The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.
A number of record companies had expressed interest in
making the vinyl version of the show, following the radio
broadcasts. One company had already got an option on it, but, since they were not doing anything with it, Original Records stepped in and got the recording rights.
Geoffrey Perkins says of the first record, "It was very
difficult. We knew it was going to be a double album, but we could not very well put half an hour on each side. So we sat down and worked out - reluctantly - which bits to cut. I was very happy with it. There were a number of things that were
improvements, like the voice treatments. And when Trillian says, `Please relax...', and we put this lovely little tune behind it. The infinite improbability sequence itself had only a fraction of the elements that went into the same scene on the radio series, but it's actually far more telling because they're clear. On radio we had thought that if we threw absolutely everything in, it would come out fascinating. Instead it came out a complete jumble - there were bits of everything in it; people had left records around in the studio from a previous show and we put a bit of that on, anything lying around. But when we mixed it all together it was a jumble and a lot of it was completely dropped. It was a definite
wankoff." The cast of the radio show was almost the same as that of the record, although the late Valentine Dyall, radio's `Man In Black', replaced Geoffrey McGivern as Deep Thought. (He was
also to play Gargravarr, with a similar voice treatment, in the second series.)
Considering the record was only available by mail order, at least initially, it sold amazingly well. Over 120,000 units were sold in the first year, and it made a number of the music charts.
The cover was an expanded version of the Hipgnosis book cover, including some entries from the Guide that have never appeared elsewhere. The record essentially covered the first four episodes of the radio series, edited down somewhat.
The second record, The Restaurant at the End of the
Universe, was slightly less successful. Geoffrey Perkins again: "We all found the first record a very interesting experience. By the time we got to the second record, it was less so (partially because none of us had been paid for the first record).
"Now a lot of people like the second record, because it's
more definitive and much more complete than the first.
"Unfortunately that is because it is far too long on each side.
It's just a rough cut. We had decided to leave it a few days, and come back and edit it with a fresh mind - I went up to
Edinburgh for the Festival, and when I came back, three days later, they had rushed through the record and cut it! I felt it was flabby, and I wanted to speed it up."
(Adams agrees: "The second record is (a) very long on both
sides, and (b) full of blah.")
Perkins is still a fan of the first record: "The nice thing about doing the record was you stuck in bits that you knew people
could only pick up on the second or third time through. Whereas the radio transmission had to be clear the first time."
In terms of plot, the second record is most similar to the last two episodes of the TV series: the Haggunenon material is
missing, replaced by Disaster Area's stuntship.
The cover of the second record showed a yellow rubber
duck, presumably in deference to the B - Ark Captain's immortal comment that one is "never alone with a rubber duck". As a
publicity stunt related to the duck theme, on the release of the second record, the window of the HMV record shop in London's Oxford Street was filled by a display that involved a bathtub filled with twelve live week-old ducklings. The stunt, brainchild of Original Records' director Don Mousseau, finished rather
earlier than expected when complaints were received from animal welfare groups.
When released in the US the records carried the text of a
version of `How to Leave the Planet' (see Appendix IV).
The two albums were not the only Hitchhiker-connected
records, though. There were also two singles released by `Marvin the Paranoid Android', Stephen Moore. These were:
`Marvin' ("Ten million logic functions, maybe more. They
make me pick up paper off the floor... You know what really
makes me mad? They clean me with a Brillo pad. A car wash
wouldn't be so bad... Solitary solenoid, terminally paranoid Marvin...") c/w `Metal Man', about a spaceship out of control trapped in a black hole, trying to persuade Marvin to rescue it. It got a limited amount of airplay, and made it into the lower
reaches of the British charts.
`Reasons to Be Miserable' ("... give my brain a pain, very
little turns me on, Marvin is my name..."), a titular parody of the lan Dury `Reasons to Be Cheerful', c/w `Marvin I Love You', the story of Marvin's cleanout of old data tapes, discovering a love message ("Marvin I love you, remember I'm programmed for
you..."), a weird combination of narrative over electropop and fifties love song. This got a very limited airplay and didn't do very much at all.
Douglas Adams acted as consultant on the songs, and when
asked about them plays a sweet lullaby on one of his many
guitars (Marvin's song from Life, the Universe and Everything, with a tune by Douglas) maintaining that he always thought they should have released that as a single. If the Life, the Universe and Everything radio series ever gets made listeners may finally get to hear it.
(A fairly complete listing of all the songs used in Hitchhiker's can be found in the radio scripts book.)
Of Mice, and Men,
and Tired TV Producers
"AT PIRST, I WASN'T THAT INTERESTED in doing a visual version of Hitchhiker's. But while I was working on Dr Who I began to realise that we have an enormous amount of special effects stuff which is simply not being used as it might be. If it turns out the way I'm beginning to visualise it, I think it could actually look very extraordinary."
- Douglas Adams,1979.
"The Hitchhiker television series was not a happy production.
There was a personality clash between myself and the director.
And between the cast and the director. And between the tea
lady and the director...."
- Douglas Adams,1983.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
TELEVISION: EPISODE THREE.
MODEL SHOT:
THE HEART OF GOLD SPEEDING
THROUGH A MURKY SKY. VERY FEW
OF MICE AND MEN AND TIRED TV PRODUCERS
STARS, AND WHAT STARS THERE ARE ARE
DARK AND VAGUE.
WE HEAR WHAT SOUNDS LIKE KISSING,
AND THEN A LITTLE RATTLING NOISE.
JUST AS WE ARE BEGINNING TO WONDER
WHAT IS GOING ON, WE CUT TO
TRILLIAN'S CABIN. IT, AND THE OTHERS
WE SHALL SEE IN A MOMENT (REDRESSES)
IS SMALL AND CRAMPED. IT INCLUDES A
BED WHICH APPEARS TO FLOAT IN
POSITION.
TRILLIAN IS GIVING HER ATTENTlON TO
A SMALL MOUSE CAGE WITH A COUPLE
OF WHITE MICE IN IT. ONE OF THEM IS
RUNNING IN A TREADWHEEL (HENCE
THE RATTLING NOISE) AND TRILLIAN IS
MAKING SOPPY SUCKING NOISES AT
THEM (HENCE THE KISSING NOISE).
AFTER A MOMENT OR SO SHE TURNS
AWAY FROM THE CAGE. THE BED MOVES
TOWARDS HER INVITINGLY.
TRILLIAN: No thanks, I can't sleep.
SILENTLY A TV SCREEN ABOVE THE BED
LIGHTS UP WITH A PICTURE OF A FLOCK
OF SHEEP MOVING PAST CAMERA. SHE
PUSHES A PANEL NEXT TO IT AND THE
PICTURE WINKS OUT AGAIN.
ONE OF THE UBIQUITOUS COMPUTER
CONSOLES NEXT TO HER BED LIGHTS UP.
EDDIE: Just trying to help. A little soothing music tuned to your personal Delta rhythms?
MUSIC FLOODS THROUGH THE ROOM.
SOMETHING VERY NAUSEATING AND
SACCHARINE.
TRILLIAN: No thank you.
THE MUSIC STOPS.
EDDIE: A story? Once upon a time there were three
computers - an analogue computer, a digital
computer and a sub-meson computer. They all lived
happily in a complex three-way interface...
TRILLIAN LEAVES THE ROOM IN
IRRITATION.
EDDIE: Wait a minute... I haven't got to the really tiring
bit yet.
CUT TO TRILLIAN WALKING DOWN THE
DARKENED CORRIDOR. SHE IS GOING
TOWARDS THE BRIDGE. SHE PASSES
ANOTHER COMPUTER CONSOLE. IT
LIGHTS UP.
EDDIE: I can skip right on to the section where they try and find a binary model for the ineluctable modality of
the visible. That's very, very soporific.
TRlLLlAN IGNORES THIS AND ENTERS
THE DOOR OF THE BRIDGE.
CUT TO THE INTERIOR OF THE BRIDGE.
THIS TOO IS IN SEMI-DARKNESS. A
COMPUTER CONSOLE LIGHTS UP.
EDDIE: Especially if I tell it in my slow... deep... voice...
(HE MATCHES HIS VOICE TO THE
DESCRIPTION, AND HIS CONSOLE LIGHTS
DIM APPROPRIATELY.)
TRILLIAN: Computer!
EDDIE: (BRIGHTLY AGAIN.) Hi there!
ALL THE LIGHTS ON THE BRIDGE LIGHT
UP SIMULTANEOUSLY WITH THIS.
TRILLIAN WINCES.
TRILLIAN: Just tell me where we are, will you?
CUT TO MODEL SHOT, AS BEFORE, OF THE
HEART OF GOLD IN MOTION THROUGH
THE DIM SKY.
THIS TIME WE HEAR SNORING. NOT L.E. (Light Entertainment.)
SNORING, BUT DRAMA SNORING.
CUT TO ANOTHER SLEEPING CUBICLE.
THIS IS ARTHUR'S.
HE IS FAST ASLEEP.
HANGING UP ON ONE WALL OF HIS
ROOM ARE HIS CLOTHES, I.E. HIS
TROUSERS AND DRESSING GOWN.
THE PANEL AGAINST WHICH THEY ARE
HANGING LIGHTS UP VERY DIMLY. LINES
CRISS-CROSS IT. THEY ARE MEASURING
HIS CLOTHES. AFTER A FEW MOMENTS,
ANOTHER SUIT OF CLOTHES
MATERIALISES NEXT TO THEM. TH15 IS
FAIRLY CONVENTIONAL SCIENCE
FICTION GEAR, PROBABLY SILVERY.
CUT TO THE NEXT CUBICLE. FORD
PREFECT IS HAVING DIFFICULTY
SLEEPING BECAUSE OF ARTHUR SNORING
NEXT DOOR.
HE TURNS OVER. BECAUSE THE BED
COVERING IS VERY THIN SPACE BLANKET
HE IS FRUSTRATED IN HIS ATTEMiT TO
WRAP IT ROUND HIS HEAD TO KEEP OUT
THE NOISE.
HE PICKS UP HIS TOWEL FROM BESIDE HIS
BED AND PRESSES THAT AROUND HIS
EARS.
CUT TO THE NEXT CUBICLE CABIN.
THERE IS SNORING EMANATING FROM
HERE TOO.
WE GO CLOSE UP ON ONE OF 2APHOD'S
HEADS. IT IS FAST ASLEEP AND SNORING.
THE CAMERA PASSES OVER TO HIS OTHER
HEAD WHICH OBVIOUSLY CANNOT
SLEEP ON ACCOUNT OF THE SNORING OF
THE FIRST HEAD.
QUIETLY, THE DOOR TO HIS CUBICLE
SLIDES OPEN. TRILLIAN IS OUTLINED IN
THE DOORWAY.
TRILLIAN: Hey, Zaphod ?
ZAPHOD: Er, yeah ?
TRILLIAN: You know what you came to look for?
ZAPHOD: Yeah?
TRILLIAN: I think we just found it.
ZAPHOD SITS UP.
ZAPHOD: Hey, what?
TRILLIAN: You called it "the most improbable planet that ever existed".
INTO OPENING CREDITS.
- Draft opening to Episode Three of TV series (never used).
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
The television version of Hitchhiker's begins with a computer readout of time remaining until the end of the world, while the sun rises over a quiet English landscape.
The computer printout was faked; so was the English
landscape. What the audience saw was imitation computer
readout while a light bulb was lifted over a model of a landscape.
The ingenuity and the casual faking of something that seems so natural exemplify the six television episodes of Hitchhiker's.
For many people the first, perhaps the only, exposure to
Hitchhiker's came from the BBC television series. Certainly it was responsible, from its first airing in 1981 on BBC 2, for millions of extra sales of the books.
The idea was first mooted in late 1979, by john Lloyd,
Associate Producer of the television series. He explains:
"I was in TV at the time of the TV show, and I had done one series of Not the Nine O'Clock News, and I was looking around for something new to do - I didn't know at that time that
NTNOCN was going to be the absurd success that it became, so I was wondering what to do next, and Hitchhiker's was the
obvious thing - it had been a great success on radio, and would obviously be great fun to do visually.
"Douglas and I had always been fascinated by science fiction.
Now this was before Star Wars and all that, we're still back in the time when people said that science fiction would never get
anywhere commercially.
"Anyway, I wrote to my head of department saying, `There's
this great radio series, it would make great TV, it's just what I want to do.' He told me he didn't know anything about it, so I wrote him a memo saying what Hitchhiker's had done, and how
it had been nominated for a Hugo award, and how it had been
repeated more times than any other programme in history, that it had been a stage show and a bestselling book... this huge long list of credits. He said, `All right, let's give it a go', and he commissioned the first script, which Douglas wrote.
"It was an extraordinarily good script. Douglas had done
what he did earlier with the books, which was to turn the radio series into something which you would never know had been
based on a radio show. lt used the medium to the fullest. My boss said that it was the best Light Entertainment script he had ever read - he was that excited!
"As I remember, Alan Bell started off as director and I was producer for the first episode, although it shaded into a co-production as I didn't have much experience with TV budgeting.
But then the BBC went and scheduled the second series of Not the Nine O'Clock News on top of the recording of Hitchhiker's.
NTNOCN was a real seven days a week job, and I couldn't do
both.
"I was really angry about it. I felt at the time like the BBC
felt that (as NTNOCN was beginning to get successful) they
didn't want the junior producer in the department (me) to have two successes at once. So they used Hitchhiker's to give someone else some work. I was really furious as I became perforce
`Associate Producer'. Which meant nothing. I didn't have any clout at the BBC, being just a junior producer on attachment-theoretically they could have sent me back to radio. I said I'd try to keep an eye on the occasional recording and rehearsal, but frankly I didn't have the time, and basically I had nothing to do with the TV show.
"Alan Bell made a big point of this in the TV show, as when my credit comes up in the titles it explodes and shoots off into space...(It is true that John Lloyd's Associate Producer credit does explode during the end titles. However, according to Alan Bell, this is pure coincidence.) "Really, the only thing I did on the TV series was writing the original memo, and being in on a few early discussions to get things moving, and the BBC corporate machinations booted me out."
Lloyd has mixed feelings about the director and producer of the series, Alan J.W. Bell, and on how the television shows
eventually turned out.
"I didn't like working with Alan. He's one of this breed of TV producers who... I'm not saying he isn't hardworking,
because he is, but he wouldn't ever run over time, or overspend.
He just wanted to get the job done. He's less interested in the script or the performance than he is in the logistics of how the programme gets made.
"In some of the rehearsals I attended actors were saying the words in the wrong order, and mispronouncing them, and Alan
wouldn't correct them. He was much more interested in the
technical side - and technically he knew an awful lot. He was very bold and brave on the technical side. Some of the actual shots in Hitchhiker's are wonderful.
"But it didn't work for me as a comic performance, because
it wasn't being directed. They hadn't got old Perkins there; he's a real nitty-gritty man, the sort who would spend hours getting one sound effect right, worrying about the script and the attitude and all that, things which Alan would see as trivial and irritating.
"I remember going to the editing of the pilot, and there were some terrible edits, and I told Alan he had to go back and do it again, because it just didn't work. His attitude was, `We haven't got any time - we've got to go on.'
"Personally, I think Hitchhiker's on TV was not all it could have been. If it had been done properly it would have won all the awards. And the only evidence there is that it was a really original show are the computer graphics. Reading the scripts you'd think `Suddenly television has gone into the 1990s. This is unbelievable!'
But then, most of the performances and filming were nowhere
near as good as, say, Dr Who.
"Alan is not a great original mind. Douglas is.
"To give Alan Bell credit, it was a difficult job to do
logistically, and you can't Belgium with TV the way you can with radio - the way Geoffrey would keep going till the last minute and keep actors hanging around while stuff was written. You
can't do that with TV - there's a limit. There does have to be a grip on things which Douglas, well... I've co-produced things with him on radio, and he does tend to be a bit daffy. He tends to think you can go on forever. I suppose he's been a bit spoiled.
"Alan did get the thing onto the air, which probably Douglas would never have done - and I can't say that I would have done, either!"
It was the first time that Douglas had worked with someone
on Hitchhiker's who he felt was less than sympathetic to his ideas and work. He wanted John Lloyd as producer, and he wanted
Geoffrey Perkins around: the radio people he knew understood Hitchhiker's.
This was not to be. Alan Bell was a television person, and
had, as he admits, little time for people from radio who attempted to tell him his job.
Geoffrey Perkins explains, "Television people tend to think that radio people don't know anything, which has an element of truth in it, but they tend to know more about scripts than people in TV ever do. And the TV people tended to think that Douglas didn't know what he was talking about.
"Now, on radio, when Douglas burbled, one could say,
`Okay, might try that,' or, `No, shut up'. But the TV attitude was that he didn't know what he was talking about. I read the first TV
script and I thought it was one of the best scripts I'd ever seen.
He'd thought up all that graphics stuff. It was absolutely brilliant."
Ask people what they remember best of the Hitchhiker's TV
series, and the answer is usually `the computer graphics'. The graphics - sequences apparently from the screen of the actual Hitchhiker's Guide - were incredibly detailed, apparently
computer-created animated graphics, full of sight gags and in-jokes, and presumably designed for people with freeze-frame and slow-motion videos, since there was no way one could pick up on the complexities of the graphics sequences in a single watching at normal speed.
Would one have noticed, for example, the cartoons of
Douglas Adams himself, posing as a Sirius Cybernetics
Corporation Advertising Executive, writing hard in the dolphin sequence, and in drag as Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings?(Douglas also made a couple of real-life appearances in the TV series. In Episode One he can be seen at the back of the pub, awaiting the end of the world with equanimity; in Episode Two he is the gentleman who withdraws large quantities of money from a bank, then takes off all his clothes and wades into the sea. Rumours of an out-takes tape (in which more of Douglas than is seemly is seen in this seene) abound. Douglas played this part because the actor who was meant to be doing it was moving house that day, and, an hour away from filming, Douglas stepped into the breach. As it were. During the filming of the series, and while he wasn't running naked into the sex, Douglas generally sat in a deckchair and did crosswords. Sometimes, according to a number of the netors and technicians, he fell off the chair, although none of them were quite sure why.) Could one have picked up on all the names and phone numbers
of some of the best places in the universe to purchase, or dry out from, a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster?
One of the phone numbers in the graphics of Episode Six
was that of a leading computer magazine who phoned Pearce
Studios, responsible for the graphics, to ask which computer it was done on, and whether a flat-screen television was built into the book prop used on the show. The comment beside the phone number was not flattering.
The computer graphics were all done by hand.
In January 1980, animator and science fiction fan Kevin
Davies was working for Pearce Studios in Hanwell, West
London, when he heard the blipping and bleeping of Star Wars droid R2D2 from the BBC cutting rooms down the corridor. He
wandered down to the cutting rooms and met Alan J.W. Bell, at that point engaged in cutting a sequence of Jim'll Fix It in which a child got to visit the Star Wars set.
Bell discovered in Davies not only a Hitchbiker's fan with
communicable enthusiasm, but also through Davies, he discovered Pearce Studios, led by Rod Lord, who were commissioned to do the graphics for the TV show (their quote for Episode One was half that of the BBC's own animation department, while the trial section produced by the BBC's own animators was so appalling it was unusable).
Pearce Studios, under animator Rod Lord, did not possess a
graphics computer. What they did have was animators, who
worked in a very computerish style.
WARNING! TECHNICAL BIT - HOW IT WAS DONE:
The sound track of Peter Jones's voice was broken down for
timing, and notes of frame numbers per line of dialogue were taken. Pencil drawings were made, then punched acetate cels were laid on top, and the pictures were traced with pens. The lettering was a combination of dry transfer and set on an IBM typewriter.
The artwork (black drawings and lettering on a clear cel) would then be photographically reversed out, to clear letters and drawings on black backgrounds.
These were back lit under an ordinary 16mm film rostrum
camera, the colour being added with filter gels. Each line of lettering and each colour required a separate exposure and a separate piece of artwork (the babel fish sequence, for example, needed about a dozen passes under the camera). The main difference between this animation and the more usual version was that instead of animating a single frame per drawing, several frames at a time were taken to give any moving objects the slightly jerky, staggered feel that people expect from computer graphics. [The television series was entered into the innovation category at the Golden Rose of Montreux TV
Festival. It won absolutely nothing (the Golden Rose went to the US-made Baryshnikov on Broadzaray, in case anyone is interested) and apparently left foreign audiences confused and reeling. At home it did rather better. In the BAFTA Awards for 1981, Hitchhiker's received two of the ten awards. Rod Lord gained a BAFTA award for the graphics(Rod Lord received his second graphics BAFTA for the `computer graphics' in the Max Headroom TV movie, four years later. Now I bet you thought those were computer generated...), and Michael McCarthy received one for being Sound Supervisor of Hitchhiker s.]
END OF TECHNICAL BIT
I asked Paddy Kingsland, responsible for most of the music and sound effects in the TV series (and the pilot for the radio series, as well as the second radio series) what was so special about the Hitchhiker's sound effects, and what the differences were between radio sound and TV sound. "I suppose the difference between
doing TV and radio was that for radio they'd say, `We need The End of the World as a sound effect - go away and do it.'
"On TV The End of the World is composed of hundreds of
shots with a close-up of the Vogon ship, then a close-up of
screaming crowds, a shot of a laser in space, and so on. You don't just have one sound effect, you have a bit of this and a bit of that ending with a bang which actually then cuts off because you're back inside the spaceship again very quickly. The shape is all finished and all you can do is do stuff to fit the pictures that have been done.
"I thought the TV show was good in parts. I thought the
computer graphic stuff was very good, very well thought out.
And some of the performances were marvellous.
"But inevitably there were things that didn't hang together too well. It's a problem you get when you mix together film and TV studios and doing it all to a deadline - there's no time to sit back and look at the thing and say, `Is that all right?' And if it isn't, to do it again.
"I don't think it had the magic of the radio series, because you could see everybody. Like Zaphod's extra head - that was one of the more spectacular failures of the T'V show. A tatty prop can be amusing, but if you don't have the money to do it right it's sometimes better not to do it at all.
"I was pleased with the sound effects of the TV series
however. It was the detail that did it. Alan Bell had everybody miked up with radio mikes to start with so that they only got the voices of the people and none of the exterior effects. So we did things like overdubbing all the footsteps in the spaceships---
which is never done for British TV.
"To give the effect of them walking through spaceships we
got a couple of beer kegs from the BBC club and actually walked around on the beer kegs while watching the screen, so when
they're walking along you get these metallic footsteps instead of the rather unconvincing wooden ones you would have got. It
took ages to do, but it paid off.
"I did all the effects for the computer graphics - the film would arrive with nothing except for Peter Jones's voice. I had to go through it doing all the sound effects and the music tracks as well. All the little beeps and explosions and things, which took ages to do - quite time-consuming. The TV series was interesting to work on, although frankly I preferred the radio series."
The necessity of getting the Hitchhiker's scripts to the screen somewhere within the budget was responsible for a certain
amount of technical innovation. Alan Bell is proudest of his development of a new special effects process of doing `glass shots'.
A glass shot, in cinematic tradition, consists of erecting a tower with a painting done on glass, high in the studio, then filming through it, thus giving the illusion that the glass painting is part of the picture. (The long shot of the Vogon hold in the first episode, for example, was done like this.) It's a complicated, fiddly, and expensive process.
Bell's solution was simple: scenes requiring matte shots were filmed or taped, then a photographic blow-up of one frame
would be made. From the photos, paintings would be made. The paintings would be photographed as slides, and the previously filmed segment would be matched up and inlaid into the painted shot. This was quicker and easier than painting on glass, and is perhaps best displayed in the `pier at Southend' sequence, when only a small section of the pier was built in the studio. The rest is a perfectly aligned matte painting.
The plot of the television series is nearest to the plot of the two records. From Magrathea the travellers are blown straight to Milliways, and, leaving there in a stolen stunt ship, we follow Arthur and Ford to prehistoric Earth, where the series finishes.
The places where the Hitchhiker's TV succeeded best and
failed worst were places where Douglas had written something into the radio series that could not be done on television. The narration sequences are an excellent example: one does not need lengthy narrations on television; however, being stuck with them, Douglas needed to work out how to make them work, and came
up with the graphics concept.
As Douglas explained: "What made it work was the fact that
it is impossible to transfer radio to television. We had to find creative solutions to problems in a way you wouldn't have had to if you were writing something similar for television immediately.
"The medium dictates the style of the show, and transferring from one to another means you're going against the grain the whole time. It's the point where you go against the grain that you come up with the best bits. The bits that were the easiest to transfer were the least interesting bits of the TV show.
"The idea of readouts from the book itself done in computer graphics form was that kind of thing. So you get little drawings, diagrams, all the words the narrator is saying, plus further expansion - footnotes and little details - all coming out at you from the screen. You can't possibly take it all in.
"I like the idea of a programme where, when you get to the
end of it, you feel you didn't get it all. There are so many programmes that are half an hour long and at the end of it you're half an hour further into your life with nothing to show for it. If you didn't get it all, that's much more stimulating.
"I wasn't as pleased with the TV series as I was with the
radio series, because I missed the intimacy of the radio work.
Television pictures stifle the picturing facilities of the mind. I wanted to step over that problem by packing the screen with so much information that more thought, not less, was provoked by the readers. Sometimes what you see is less exciting than what you envisage.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
CUT TO MODEL SHOT OF THE SHIP.
THE MISSILES ARE ON THE POINT OF
HITTING IT WHEN THE SKY EXPLODES
WITH BEWILDERING COLOURS AND A
MONTAGE OF TOTALLY INCONGRUOUS
IMAGES. THESE SHOULD INCLUDE
DISTORTED PICTURES OF THE
PASSENGERS, STARS, MONKEYS, STAPLING
MACHINES, TREES, CHEESE SOUFFLES... IN
OTHER WORDS, A BRIEF VISION OF
MADNESS. INCLUDED SHOULD ALSO BE A
SPERM WHALE AND A BOWL OF
PETUNIAS. WE GO BACK INSIDE THE
BRIDGE.
EVERYTHING IS HIGGLEDY-PIGGELDY.
THERE ARE A VERY LARGE NUMBER OF
MELONS LYING ABOUT.
THERE IS ALSO (THOUGH NO ONE CALLS
ATTENTION TO IT) A GOAT WITH A SCALE
MODEL OF THE EIFFEL TOWER STRAPPED
TO ITS HEAD STANDING ABOUT. THIS
GOAT IS NEVER EVER REFERRED TO, BUT
IT WILL CONTINUE TO BE WITH THEM
FOR MOST OF THE REST OF THE SERIES.
ZAPHOD: (DAZED.) What the photon happened?
- Draft script for Episode Three (unused).
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
It was all too easy for Douglas to give Zaphod Beeblebrox an extra arm and an extra head during the radio series. No one ever saw him; it was a one-off throwaway line. But if one has the televisual task of transforming this into something that works on the screen one thanks one's lucky stars that Douglas did not give Beeblebrox five heads, or fifty...
Unable to find a bicephalic actor (or at least, one who could learn his lines), the BBC resorted to Mark Wing-Davey, Zaphod on radio, and built him an animatronic head and an extra arm (mostly stuffed, but occasionally, when all hands needed to be seen to be working, the hand of someone behind him, sticking an extra arm out, as can be seen quite clearly in the Milliways sequence of Episode Five).
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
ASTONISHINGLY ENOUGH, ONE WALL OF
THE BRIDGE APPEARS TO GIVE DIRECTLY
OUT ONTO QUITE A LARGE SUNNY
PATIO, WITH GRASS, A DECKCHAIR, A
TABLE WITH A LARGE BRIGHTLY
COLOURED SUNSHADE, EXOTIC
FLOWERS AND SO ON. SEATED IN THE
DECKCHAIR WITH A DRINK IS AN
EXTRAORDINARY LOOKING MAN. HE
HAS TWO HEADS. OBVIOUSLY ONE OF
THESE IS GOING TO BE A FAKE UNLESS WE
CAN FIND AN ACTOR PREPARED TO
UNDERGO SOME VERY EXOTlC SURGERY.
THE REAL HEAD AND THE FAKE HEAD
SHOULD LOOK AS FAR AS POSSIBLE
ABSOLUTELY IDENTICAL: ANY
SHORTCOMINGS IN THE REALISM OF THE
FAKE HEAD SHOULD BE MATCHED BY
THE MAKE-UP ON THE REAL ONE. THE
FAKE SHOULD HAVE AN ARTICULATED
MOUTH AND ARTICULATED EYES.
- Draft TV script for Episode Two.
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There was a problem with Zaphod's head. It looked false, and stuffed, and stuck there. This is not because it was a less than sterling piece of special effects work (although it wasn't that good), but also because things went wrong, and even when they didn't the batteries tended to run down in rehearsals, so by the time a scene was filmed, the head just lolled around expressionlessly. As Douglas Adams says, "It was a very delicate mechanism, and it would work wonderfully for 30 seconds and then break down or get stuck and to get it working properly you'd have to spend an hour taking it apart and putting it back together again, and we never had that hour so we fudged as best we could."
As Mark Wing-Davey remembers, "The difficulty with the
television series for me was Alan Bell (who we all know and
love). I don't think he wanted the original members of the radio show at all, because he wanted the freedom to pick and choose a bit, but we were supposed to have first option so we came in and read for it. They didn't want any input from me on the way the character would look (I'd visualised him as a blonde beach bum).
I quite liked the final design, but I refused to wear the eyepatch - I said, `Give the other head the eyepatch, because I'm not having one! It's hard enough acting with another head, but with one eye as well...' (This was decided after the initial animation had been done, so the Zaphod graphics in Episode One sport two eyepatches. Come to that, in the graphics of Episode One Arthur Dent doesn't have a dressing gown...) "The other head was heavvvvvy. Very heavy. I was wearing
armour plating made of fibre glass, and because I wanted to be able to alternate the two right arms I had a special cut-out.
"There was a little switch hidden in the circuitry of my
costume which switched the head on and off. We were under
such pressure in the studio that occasionally I forgot to switch it on, so I'm acting away and it's just there. It cost f3,000 by the way - more than me!"
Costume design for the series was primarily the responsibility of Dee Robson, a veteran BBC designer with a penchant for
science fiction. It was she who designed Ford Prefect's precisely clashing clothes - based on what could be found in the BBC's wardrobes, and it was she who gave Zaphod Beeblebrox yet
another additional organ: examining the costume worn by Mark Wing-Davey reveals two trouser flies (one zipped, one buttoned) and, Dee's original costume notes explain, Zaphod has a "double crotch, padded to give effect of two organs. "
As Mark Wing-Davey explained, "I said to wardrobe, you've
seen Mick Jagger in those tight trousers - make me a pair. So I had these nine inch tubes down the front of the trousers for filming. When we got into the studio Dee came up to me to say she was `worried about those... things. I thought they might be a bit obvious, so I've cut them down to six inches.'"
One of the most famous costumes, however, was Arthur
Dent's: a dressing gown, over a pair of pajamas. The dressing gown first appeared in the books following the television series: there is no mention of what Arthur is wearing in the first two books. That Arthur remained in the dressing gown throughout the TV series was Alan Bell's idea: Douglas had written a sequence on board the Heart of Gold in which the ship designed Arthur a silvery jump-suit. The whole sequence was scrapped, and Alan ensured that Arthur stayed in his dressing gown. As Bell explained, "What was special about Arthur was that he was in a dressing gown. Silver jump-suits are what they wore in Star Wars."
Alan J.W. Bell is a BBC Light Entertainment director and
producer; having worked on such shows as Maigret and
Panorama as a film editor, he won a BAFTA award for Terry
Jones's and Michael Palin's Ripping Yarns, a BAFTA nomination for the long-running geriatric comedy Last of the Summer Wine, and a Royal Television Society Award for Hitchhiiker's.
I met him initially in his office at the BBC, which still
contains a number of items of Hitchhiker's memorabilia. It's a show he is proud of, and has many fond memories of. On his
desk was a small plastic fruit machine which he urged me to try. I pulled the handle, but nothing happened; it should have squirted me with water. Alan pointed out to his secretary that it was her job to keep it filled, and we began the interview: this was BBC
Light Entertainment.
"The first time I heard of Hitchhiker's was in a bar
somewhere - I was asked if I'd heard it on the radio. I hadn't, so I listened to it, and I thought it was marvellous, inspired stuff, but there was no way it could be done on TV. It was all in the mind, all in the imagination.
"So about three months later I was asked to do it, and I said that I thought it couldn't be done, but they said `We're going to do it!', so that was it. I had to do it.
"Now, I work for Light Entertainment, not Drama (who do
Dr Who and have experience of things like this), and we had no idea what the budgeting would be. All I could do was put down what I thought it would cost, and I was out by thousands of
pounds. For the first episode, for example, we had to throw away $10,000 of model shots of spaceships, because they wobble, and they looked like models. That first episode was about $40,000
over budget, which is vast in TV terms. But it had to be done right. Otherwise it would have been awful."
The first episode of Hitchhiker's was made very much as a
pilot, and Alan Bell presented it to the heads of department at the BBC. Some of them didn't like it. They didn't understand it, nor for that matter did they realise it was meant to be funny. And the cost of the first episode = over $120,000 - was about four times as much as an equivalent episode of Dr Who.
In order to demonstrate the humour of the show, Alan Bell
arranged for a laugh track. This was done by assembling about a hundred science fiction fans in the National Film Theatre, playing them the first episode, and taping their reaction. As a warm-up to this a ten minute video was played, featuring Peter Jones reading hastily felt-penned cue cards in a bewildered fashion, assuring the audience that Zaphod Beeblebrox would be in the next episode, and, with the ubiquitous Kevin Davies, demonstrating the use of the headphones.
This is Peter Jones's only on-screen appearance in the
Hitchhiker's television series.
The audience loved the show, laughed on cue and generally
had a good time, and while the BBC hierarchy had agreed that the next five episodes should be made (although they were made for more like $40,000 a show - one reason why the sets begin to get a little rudimentary towards the end), it did not insist on a laugh track. This was undoubtedly a good thing.
As Bell remembers, "The first episode was only a pilot, but by the time we had got halfway through, they had already
commissioned the series, but we still didn't know the resources that would be required because all we had to go on were the radio scripts.
"When we'd finished it, the Powers That Be thought that the viewers wouldn't know that it was comedy unless we added a
laughter track. So we hired the National Film Theatre and
showed it on a big screen and gave all the audience headphones so they could hear the soundtrack nice and clearly, and they laughed all the way through. It did help that that audience was composed of fans..."
While much of the casting was the same on television and
radio, there were a few variations.
"I wanted to keep everyone from the radio series, but
sometimes people's voices don't match their physical appearance.
"For example, I wanted someone for Ford Prefect who
looked slightly different, and when I saw Geoffrey McGivern I thought he looked too ordinary. Ford should be human but
slightly unnerving, so we looked around for someone else. My secretary (It should be noted that most of the really important pieces of casting in Hitchhiker's seem to have been done by secretaries. Whether this phenomenon is unique to Hitchhiker's, or whether it is extant throughout the entertainment industry has not been adequately investigated, at least, not by me.) suggested David Dixon. He was great, but I thought we'd change the colour of his eyes and make them a vivid blue, so we got special tinted contact lenses which looked marvellous in real life, but when it came to television the cameras just weren't sensitive enough to pick up on it - except in the pub scene at the beginning.
"Sandra Dickinson got the part of Trillian after we had
interviewed about 200 young ladies for the role. None of them had performed it with the right feelings. The girl had to have a sense of humour. And then Sandra Dickinson came in and read it and made the lines more funny than any other actress who'd done an audition. "
Sandra Dickinson was a surprising choice for Trillian; the
character was described in the book as a dark-haired,
dark-complexioned English woman; Sandra played it (as indeed she is in real life) as a small blonde American with a squeaky husky voice. As Douglas Adams said of her, "She could have
done a perfect `English Rose' voice, and looking back I think perhaps we should have got her to do it. But it was such a relief to find someone who could actually read Trillian's lines with some humour, and give the character some life, that we just had her do it as herself, and not change a thing."
Another surprise casting came with Episode Five: Sandra's
husband, Peter Davison, the fifth and blandest Dr Who. He
played the Dish of the Day, a bovine creature which implores diners to eat it. As Alan Bell explains, "Sandra came to me and said that Peter wanted to play a guest part in Hitchhiker's and she suggested the Dish of the Day. I said, `You cannot put Peter Davison in a cow skin', but she said, No, really he wants to do it!'. I said OK, and we booked him. We didn't pay him star
status; he just did it for the fun of it. And he played it very well."
Early on in the press releases for Hitchhiker's, great play was made of the fact that they would not be filming in the quarries and gravel pits in which Dr Who has always travelled to distant planets. And they wouldn't have any of the plastic rocks that made Star Trek's alien worlds so strangely unconvincing.
Instead, they would go abroad. Iceland, perhaps. Or Morocco.
The Magrathean sequences, one was assured, would be filmed
somewhere exotic.
Alan Bell: "Douglas wanted us to film the Magrathean
sequences in Iceland. So I looked up the holiday brochures, and it was very cold and there weren't any hotels of any note, but I had been to Morocco years before and I remembered there was a part of Morocco that was very space-like. We went to look, but we had so much trouble getting through customs - without cameras - and we met a Japanese film crew who said, `Don't come
because they deliberately delay you so you'll spend more money!'
- they'd had all their equipment impounded for three weeks.
"So we ended up in this rather nice clay pit in Cornwall,
where we also did the beach scenes: Marvin playing beach ball and Douglas going into the sea."
Most of the cast and crew have memories of the Cornish clay pit. Some of them have to do with the fact that there were no toilets down there. Others have to do with David Learner, the actor inside Marvin, who, due to the length of time it took to get in and out of the Marvin costume, was abandoned in the clay pit during the occasional rain showers during filming, protected from rust by an umbrella.
Prehistoric Britain was filmed in the Lake District, during a cold snap, which meant that Aubrey Morris (playing the Captain of the B - Ark, in his bath), and the extras clad in animal skins who played the pre-Golgafrincham humans, were all frozen to
the bone, and spent all their time when not on camera bundled up in blankets and drinking tea.
The other interesting location was that of Arthur's house---
discovered by Alan Bell while driving, lost, around Leatherhead.
(The gate, which is all one sees knocked down by a bulldozer, was built especially).
It was while the pub scenes at the beginning were being
filmed that the union troubles began for Hitchhiker's - the
precise nature of which no one seems clear on anymore, but
which apparently involved a trip to the pub by some members of the cast and crew which might have been recreational, but which the union representatives assumed was professional, and as such they felt they should have been invited, or something.(The story changes according to who you talk to and I never really understood any of the versions. I also had the impression that nobody telling me quite understood their version either. This is one of the few examples of woolly reporting in an otherwise excellent book, and should not be counted against it.) The computer room at the end of Episode Four (the Shooty
and Bang Bang sequence) was actually filmed on Henley Golf
Course. "We wanted somewhere near at hand which we could
build and blow up", Alan Bell remembered. "It was just
sufficiently out of London that we could warn the locals that if they heard a bang at two in the morning, don't pay any attention to it - it's only us! You can't see it on the show, but it's actually raining into the set - it was open at the top."
Union problems continued when the filming returned to the
studios: "The Milliways set was actually the biggest set they've ever put into the BBC's biggest studio. The unions said they wouldn't put the set in, and we had to cut bits out, which was a pity.
"But the way we filmed it you never saw it all at once
anyway, just parts at a time. My reason for that was that. . . well, if you've ever watched a variety show, they'll spend all their money on a set, the singer sings, the camera pulls back, and you see the set. And song after song you see the set, and you get bored with it.
"So I said, when we do Hitchhiker's we'll leave things to
people's imaginations, so even though we had this huge set there isn't one shot where you see it all. Only parts of it, because then you think it's even bigger than it is. You never see the edges of it.
"Things got very rushed toward the end. The series was
structured to be made on a daily basis, so that, once all the graphics work and location work for each episode was done, the studio filming could be done in one day in the studio. It should really have been five days at the studio, so there was an enormous panic to get everything done in time. And the Electricians' Union were in dispute, so at 10.00 pm every night the lights went out, the plugs were pulled, and that was it. There's a scene where you see Arthur Dent running to hide behind a girder - we actually used a shot of Simon Jones, the actor, running across the studio to get to his mark."
The show was a success. The fans loved it, it garnered
excellent reviews, most people were pleasantly surprised and befuddled by the computer graphics, and it won the BBC a few awards in a year otherwise dominated by ITV's Brideshead
Revisited.
Everybody waited expectantly for the second series. And
waited. And waited. There are conflicting stories of why the second series never came to be made...
John Lloyd: "They asked Douglas to do a second series. As
far as I know, he went to the BBC and said, `I'd be delighted, but I never want to work with Alan Bell again.' And the BBC most untypically supported Alan - they said he was the only person to do it. That was the end of it. (I say untypically because if, say, a comedy star didn't get on with a producer he'd go to the head of department and they'd give him a new one. They'd do it for a star, but not for a writer.)"
Geoffrey Perkins: "Douglas wanted me to produce it. I heard that Alan Bell refused to direct if I were producer, and instead said how would I like to be script editor? This seemed to me the most thankless task imaginable - for the first TV series they didn't know how lucky they were - they already had the script from the radio series and records, they were in clover. They hadn't been through the whole thing of getting scripts out of Douglas. Now I knew that getting those scripts for the second series without any say in the way they were done would be an appalling, heartbreaking thing, possibly the most thankless task I could ever think up.
"I said no.
"My own impression is that the second series really got to
brinkmanship. Douglas gave the BBC an ultimatum. They said
no, fully expecting him to back down. And of course he didn't and neither did they."
Alan Bell: "There was going to be a second series. It was all commissioned, we had fifty per cent more money, the actors were told the dates, and during that time Douglas went past his script deadline, and time was running out, we needed to have the
information because otherwise, six weeks before production,
what can you do? We needed sets built - there's no way you can build them in that time. The deadlines to deliver the scripts came and went, we gave him another three weeks and meetings were
going on - and that was it, it had to be cancelled.
"It was going to begin with a test match in Australia, but we checked it out and the timing wasn't right, so we were looking at Headingly or somewhere. That was all I knew about the second TV series - it wasn't going to be the second radio series at all.
"Douglas is very strange. He believed that radio was the
ultimate series and that TV let him down. I don't know. Maybe it did. I had to change a lot of things in production to make it stronger, like Slartibartfast's aircar: anyone who had seen Star VfJars would think we'd stolen it from there, so I changed it to a bubble, and he was upset about that.
"We started making lists of his wild ideas. He wanted to
make Marvin a chap in a leotard painted gold - if you see it on TV you'd know it was an actor. The fun of the script is that Marvin is a tin box that's depressed. If you see a man in a leotard you know it's an actor straightaway, and what's so unusual about an actor being depressed? And anyway there was that gold robot in Star Wars. That impasse went straight to the Head of
Department.
"He wanted the Mice to be played by men in mouse skins. It
wouldn't have worked. It would have looked like pantomime. He wanted it to be faithful to the radio, but you couldn't be faithful to the radio as it's visual, people have to walk from one side of the set to the other.
"So Douglas and I were fighting, not that that matters,
because that's what life's all about. If you're on a production and everybody's enjoying themselves it's generally a load of rubbish, because people feel passionately about things. It was my job to throw out the bad ideas and keep the good.
"The change in role for the black Disaster Area stunt ship
was done by Douglas himself. John Lloyd was the co-writer of some episodes of the radio series, when Douglas was script editor of Dr Who and also writing Hitchhiker's, and he was quite happy to farm out to John to write the bits he couldn't write, and the Black Ship bit was one of them. When it became a big success, Douglas very much regretted having shared the credit with John on those episodes so when it came to the TV series he wouldn't at any cost do anything that John Lloyd had written because he
wanted it to be all Douglas Adams. I think if I was Douglas
Adams I'd do exactly the same thing.
"We got on quite well, but I thought he was a hindrance. We used to tell him that the dubbing dates were in three weeks' time when we'd done it the day before, because if he came along he interfered all the time, and, I have to say, not necessarily for the better."
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PRODUCTION SUGGESTION: Mice.
I've suggested using the eidophor images in case we can manage to do some very convincing puppetry to give us the appearance of talking mice, like the Muppets, or indeed Yoda in the otherwise terribly boring Empire Strikes Back. If we do that, then of course the mice must look as real as we can possibly make them, and not simply joke mice. That means that on the actual set, in the glass transports, we either use little life-size models, or indeed real mice, which would be preferable.
Obviously, if we can make them appear to be speaking very
convincingly, then it obviates the need for the very extreme voice treatments we had to use on radio, which were detrimental to the actual sense of the lines.
- Douglas Adams's production notes for TV, Episode Five.
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Douglas Adams: "A lot of what Alan says is simply not the case.
Whether his memory is at fault or not I don't know. All I would say is that as he cheerfully admits he will say what suits him rather than what happens to be the case. And therefore there's no point in arguing.
"I wouldn't start seriously moving on the second TV series
until we'd sorted out various crucial aspects of how we were going to go about it. I felt very let down by the fact that though John Lloyd was meant to be producer he was rapidly moved
aside, much to the detriment of the show. I'd always made it clear that I wanted Geoffrey Perkins, at the very least as a consultant.
"Neither of these things transpired in the first series. It was perfectly clear to myself and the cast that Alan had very little sympathy with the script. So I didn't want to go into the second series without that situation being remedied in some way, and the BBC was not prepared to come up with a remedy. That was the
argument going on in the background, that was why I was not
producing the scripts. I wasn't going to do the scripts until I knew we were going to do the series."
In 1984, when John Lloyd and Geoffrey Perkins were both
involved, as producer and script editor respectively, in Central Television's Spitting Image, there were noises made that the Spitting Image company would have been interested in making a version of Life, the Universe and Everything. It would have been interesting - one feels that they would probably have been able to get Zaphod's head right - but the television rights were tied up with the film rights and nothing ever came of it.
The Restaurant at the
End of the Universe
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MARVIN: It's the people you meet that really get you down in this job. They're so boring. The best conversation I
had was over thirty-four million years ago.
TRILLIAN: Oh dear.
MARVIN: And that was with a coffee machine.
ZAPHOD: Yeah, well, we're really cut up about that, Marvin.
Now, where's our old ship?
MARVIN: It's in the restaurant.
ZAPHOD: What?
MARVIN: They had it made into teaspoons. I enjoyed that bit.
Not very much though.
ZAPHOD: You mean they're stirring their coffee with my ship?
The Heart of Gold? Hey, that was one of the
creamiest space strutters ever stacked together.
- Cut from script, radio Episode Five.
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"Each time I come to a different version, I always think I could do it better; I'm very aware of what I feel I got wrong, what was thin or bad in the first version of it. Pan of it is that I wrote it serially, so I was never sure where it was going. And no matter how frantically I'd plot it out, it would never adhere to the plot I had mapped out for it.
"You map out a plot, and you write the first scene, and
inevitably the first scene isn't funny and you have to do
something else, and you finally get the scene to be funny but it's no longer about what it was meant to be about, so you have to jack in the plot you had in mind and do a new one...
"After a while, it became pointless plotting too far in advance, because it never worked, since the vast body of the material arrived serially. I'd often reach a point where I'd go, `If I knew I was going to wind up here I would have done something else there.' So
writing the books is usually an attempt to make sense of what I've already done, which usually involves rather major surgery.
"Especially with the second book, I was trying with
hindsight to make a bit of sense out of it all. I knew how it would end, with the prehistoric Earth stuff, and I found myself plotting the book backwards from there..."
The Restaurant at the End of the Universe is Douglas
Adams's favourite of the Hitchhiker's books, although the
circumstances under which it was written were somewhat less
than ideal and they were to be far from unique.
"I had put it off and put it off and got extension after
extension (all sorts of other things were going on at the time, like the stage show and the TV series), but eventually the managing director of Pan said, `We've given you all these extensions and we have got to have it: sudden death or else, we have to have it in four weeks. Now, how far have you got with it?' I didn't like to tell him I hadn't staned it; it seemed unfair on the poor chap's hean."
Jacqueline Graham, who was working for Pan, explains the
predicament: "After the first book, our attitude was a mixture of resignation and exasperation with Douglas's lateness. By the second book, we expected him to be late, it was built into our planning, but at the same time we thought, `Well, he can't do it again, surely! This time he'll start on time, or he'll have a schedule and stick to it...'
"But he didn't. The whole thing was tremendously late, and
Douglas was getting into a bit of a state about it because it was getting later and later. He was sharing a flat at the time with a friend called Jon Canter, and Douglas found it impossible to work as the phone kept ringing and Jon was always there. In the end I said to him, `Why don't you just move out?' as he had written the first book at his mother's. He thought that was a very good idea so I rented him a flat, and moved him in that afternoon."
Douglas found the experience more than slightly weird: "I
was locked away so nobody could possibly reach me or find me. I led a completely monastic existence for that month, and at the end of four weeks it was done.
"It was extraordinary. One of those times you really go
mad... I can remember the moment I thought, `I can do it! I'll actually get it finished in time!' And the Paul Simon album had just come out, One Trick Pony, and it was the only album I had.
I'd listen to it on my Walkman every second I wasn't actually sitting at the typewriter - it contributed to the sense of insanity and hypnotism that allowed me to write a book in that time."
When the manuscript for The Restaurant at the End of the
Universe was turned in, Douglas stated that that would be the final Hitchhiker's book. "It's the last of all that, I hope," he announced to one daily paper, " I want to try another field, now, like performing."
The book, again a paperback original from Pan, was a critical success. While most critics had been a little wary of the first book initially, mostly not reviewing it at all, its sales had made it a major book. Oddly enough, the only part that British critics found too highly Monty Python, and too down-to-eanh, was the colonisation of Eanh by the Golgafrincham detritus; the `oddly'
because this is the section most American critics picked up on most easily and singled out for praise.
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MARVIN TURNS FROM THE TELEPORT
AND TRUDGES AWAY.
MARVIN: I suppose some people might have expected better
treatment after having waited for five hundred and
seventy-six thousand million years in a car park. But
not me. I may just be a menial robot but I'm far too
intelligent to expect anyone to think of me for a
moment. Far too intelligent. In fact, I'm so
intelligent I've probably got time to go through the
five million things I hate most about organic life
forms. One. They're so stupid...
- Cut from TV script.
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Invasion USA
"AND NOW," BEGAN THE PRESS RELEASE, "for something
completely different..."
As has been seen, Douglas Adams's contribution to Monty
Python was neither major nor earth-shattering, consisting as it did of having had an old sketch rewritten by diverse hands for the soundtrack album of Monty Python and the Holy Grail, and two walk-on parts (once in drag and once in a surgical mask) in the final series.
This was not, however, the impression one got from the
American PR for The Hitchhiker's Guide to tbe Galaxy, which
represented Douglas as a "former scriptwriter for Monty
Python". In addition to which, the initial press release for the hardback copy of Hitchhiker's (published by Harmony/Crown
in October 1980) contained the following praise for the book:
"Really entertaining and fun" -John Cleese
"Much funnier than anything John Cleese has ever written"-
Terry Jones
"I know for a fact that John Cleese hasn't read it" - Graham Chapman
"Who is John Cleese?" - Eric Idle
"Really entertaining and fun" - Michael Palin
An American fan might have been forgiven for supposing that
Douglas Adams, not Terry Gilliam, was the sixth member of the Python team.
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MONTY PYTHON AND HITCHHIKER'S
"It's funny. When I was at university I was a great Python fan. I still am, but that was obviously when Python was at its most active. So I have very much an outsiders view of Python; an
audience's view. As far as Hitchhiker's goes I'm the only person who doesn't have any outsider's view whatsoever. I often wonder how I'd react to it if I wasn t me, but I still was me, so to speak, and how much I'd like it, and how much I'd be a fan or whatever.
The way I would perceive it in among everything else. Obviously I can't answer that question. I have no idea, because I'm the one person who can't look at it from outside.
"You can see all the elements in Hitchhiker's in which it is a bit this or a bit that. I mean, it's an easy line for people wanting to categorise it in the press to say it is a cross between Monty Python and Dr Who, and in a sense it is, there are all kinds of elements that go into making it what it is. But at the end of the mixing you have something which is different from anything else in its own peculiar way.
"But then, everything is like that. Python was a mixture of all kinds of things thrown together to give you something different from anything else. Even the Beatles (let's get really elevated here) were a mixture of all kinds of elements drawn from other things, mixed together and they created something which was
extraordinarily different.
"Although Hitchhiker's does not have any real political
significance, there is a theme there of the ubquity of bureaucracy and paranoia rampant throughout the universe. And that is a
direct debt to Python, along with the comparative style of
`individual events, little worlds'. The difference comes with the narrative structure, so the world of Hitchhiker's is based outside the `Real World' while still co-existing with it. It's like looking at events through the wrong end of a telescope."
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In 1980 a few American radio stations had already broadcast
Hitchhiker's and National Public Radio was just waiting for its new stereo system to begin operating before it started to broadcast the radio series nationally. Even so, the show was not going to have the same effect on the States that it had had in England through radio, and a new tack was needed.
The book had done moderately well in hardcover on its
release but did not reach the cult status it had in England and that, it was imagined, it had the potential of reaching in America.
The radio series was finally broadcast by National Public Radio member stations in March 1981. (National response was so good that the twelve episodes were rebroadcast six months later.) [Douglas Adams had paid his first visit to America in
January 1981, on completion of the BBC television series. He lived in New York, had a wonderful time (despite contracting an ear infection) and visited Mexico before returning to England where he was to begin working on Life, tbe Universe and
Everything.)
In many ways, the paperback release of The Hitchhiker's
Guide to the Galaxy had a lot in common with the promotion of the cult film The Rocky Horror Picture Show. In order to get people along to Rocky Horror the film company realised that the public had to `discover' it for themselves, there had to be a word-of-mouth campaign among the right sort of people.
It is peculiar that, even more than favourable reviews or
national advertising (neither of which, admittedly, ever hurt sales), the factor that seems to sell most books is word-of-mouth promotion: people reading books and recommending them to
friends. It was to be hoped that Hitchhiker's could have the same kind of impact that some of the `campus classics' of the sixties and seventies had had - books that had built up high sales, and then remained perennial bestsellers. Could it be the next Catcher in the Rye? The next Lord of the Rings, or Dune?
Hitchhiker's needed advance word-of-mouth among science
fiction fans and - more importantly - among the college crowd and the kind of people who would appreciate its humour. The
solution? An advertisement in the 20th August Rolling Stone, giving away three thousand copies of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy ("FREE!") to the first people to write to the
"Hyperspace Hitchhiking Club - Earth Div. c/o Pocket Books"
by 27th August. This was combined with many "advance reading copies" and "give-away promotions" which were distributed by Pocket in the months before publication to ensure that people would begin to read Hitchhiker's and that they would, Pocket hoped, tell their friends how much they had enjoyed it.
Pocket did not skimp on the promotion, however. "England"
they explained in their press release, "the country that gave America the Beatles and Monty Python's Flying Circus has just exported another zany craze - The Hitchhiker's Guide to the
Galaxy by Doug Adams, a wild spoof available in October from Pocket Books."
The book was released in October, and did reasonably well.
Douglas was again in America at this time, in Los Angeles,
while ABC tried to put together the ("thank heaven, abortive") American version of the television series.
"It was like every horror story you have ever heard," says
Douglas. "They weren't really interested in how good it was
going to be, they just wanted to do lots of special effects, and they also wanted not to have to pay for them."
The show was to be one of the many British comedy shows
that had been turned into American comedy shows. (There is a long and noble tradition of this, that includes dragging such shows as Steptoe and Son, Fawlty Towers, and The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin across the Atlantic, recasting them, rewriting them, and frequently removing whatever it was that happened to make the show funny in the first place (It is interesting to note that quiz shows tend to cross the Atlantic in the opposite direction. Such shows as The Price is Right and Hollywood (`Celebrity') Squares have all reached the UK from the US.).) Quite what ABC planned to do with Hitchhiker's is unknown.
The script was to be by other people than Douglas, and was being written and put together by various committees:
"There were terrible stories coming back after meetings with executives, they'd make remarks like `Would an alien be green?'
Eventually everything got abandoned because the first episode's budget came to $2.2 million. It would have been the most expensive twenty-two minute show ever made. The script was terrible."
Douglas's sole contribution was to "come in and hang around the production office for a week". As he later pointed out, "It gives you an idea of the crazy proportion of this thing, when you think that they paid me four times as much for that one week as I was paid to write the whole series for radio!"
It was with the release of The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, shortly afterwards, that Douglas first made it onto the US bestseller lists, and, with the American broadcast of the BBC
television series, Hitchhiker's popularity was assured.
Many people were surprised that something as essentially
British as Hitchhiker's took off in America. Not Douglas Adams.
"One is told at every level of the entertainment industry that the American audience does not like or understand English
humour. We are told that at every level except that of the audience, who, as far as I can see, love it. It's everybody else, the people whose job it is to tell you what the audiences like; but the people I meet here, and in the US, who are fans, are very much the same type of people.
"The most commonly heard plea from American audiences is
`Don't let them Americanise it! We get all sorts of pabulum over here...!'
"In terms of sales these days, it is more popular in America than England (it sells twice as many books to four times as many people, so it's either twice as popular, or half as popular). I think too much is made of the difference between US and UK humour.
I don't think there's a difference in the way those audiences are treated. Audiences in the US (through no fault of their own) are treated as complete idiots by the people who make programmes.
And when you've been treated as an idiot for so long you tend to respond that way. But when given something with a bit more
substance the tend to breathe a deep sigh of relief and say
`Thank God for that!'
"There are things that the British think are as English as roast beef that the Americans think are as American as apple pie. The trick is to write about people. If you write about situations that people recognise then people will respond to it. The humour that doesn't travel is stuff like the Johnny Carson monologue, for which you needed to know precisely who said what about who
that week and how it affected the performance of the LA Rams. If you don't have the information then it isn't funny.
"But anything that relies on how a person works is
universally accessible. (How it works in translation is another matter, as in that respect comedy is a fragile plant, and very often I suspect it might not stand up in translation. I don't know.
Hitchhiker's has been translated into all kinds of languages, and I've no idea which ones work and which ones don't.)"
As it is, Life, the Universe, and Everything and, more
especially, So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish have sold
amazingly well in the US, the latter riding high on the US bestseller lists for over eighteen months. The computer game, which was not a big hit in the UK, was the number one game in the US for a year, selling over a quarter of a million copies. Much of Douglas's mail and the greater part of his income, now comes from America.
Life, the Universe, and Everything
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ZAPHOD: There's nothing wrong with my sense of reality. I
have it thoroughly serviced every fortnight.
- Cut from radio script, Episode Three.
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The first two Hitchhiker's books were based on material developed for the radio series. When Douglas Adams agreed to write the third book he had sworn he would never write, he took the plot from a storyline he had had "knocking around for ages".
He had once suggested it as a Dr Who story, but Graham
Williams thought it was just "too silly". Later, when there was talk of a Dr Who film to star Tom Baker, he had written the story as a film outline, Dr Who and the Krikkitmen (see Appendix V).
The film never materialised, but later, when talk began of the second Hitchhiker's television series, Douglas began to look at the Krikkitmen script as a Hitchhiker's vehicle.
As things turned out, for reasons explained at length
elsewhere, there was not going to be a second television series.
However, the process of turning Dr Who and the Krikkitmen
into Life, the Universe, and Everything, had begun.
As far as plots go, the storylines are essentially the same.
Douglas divided the Dr Who role between Slartibartfast,
Trillian and (for the final sequence) Arthur Dent, although what would have been the last half of the Dr Who format became the final thirty pages of Life, the Universe, and Everything.
(In the Dr Who version, after having failed to prevent the
Krikkitmen from taking the components of the Wicket Gate, the Doctor arrives with Sarah Jane on Krikkit and spends most of the rest of the story, in classic Dr Who style, running around, getting captured, escaping, learning vital bits of plot, running around, getting captured, escaping, rescuing Sarah Jane, and so on.) Life, the Universe, and Everything was different in kind
from the other Hitchhiker's books, in that it was not written serially. Douglas knew what was going to happen next, but this gave him a new problem, that of fitting the Hitchhiker's
characters into the Dr Who plot. Hitchhiker's characters are essentially feckless, and instead of, say, saving the universe they would tend instead towards going to a party (Ford), staying cool (Zaphod), looking bewildered (Arthur) or moaning (Marvin); this really left only Trillian, whose personality had never been fully explored (indeed, barely glanced at), as a substitute worldsaver.
More so, perhaps, than any other part of Douglas's oeuvre,
the creation of Life, the Universe, and Everything was fraught with difficulties:
"As with everything, I put it off longer than I should have, and then I had a huge domestic crisis which knocked me for six; I couldn't think of anything funny to save my life; I wanted to jump off cliffs and things like that. It was an emotional episode which I'm not going to go into in any detail..."
(Although Adams will no longer discuss it, his then girlfriend had left him - as he said in an interview given about that time, "She went off with this bloke on, to me, the spurious grounds that he was her husband.")
As a result of this, Adams wrote a "very bleak" first draft of Life, the Universe, and Everything: "I had the first draft of it three-quarters finished and then I had to go and do a major book promotion tour in the US for a month. I was suddenly confronted by the fact that this book was not anything like right at that point.
And I had to phone up my publisher and say `Look, it's not
finished yet, I'm going to have to rewrite it, but I have to go now'
- it was terrible!
"So I went away and did this tour, feeling terrible about the situation I'd left behind. Then I came back and sat down and wrote; and threw out practically every word of the first draft of Life, the Universe, and Everything. Take, for example, in the first draft, the first twenty pages, which were Arthur waking up in his cave, two and a half million years ago (I think it was just that was where I wanted to be at the time). I rewrote it and rewrote it and rewrote, and at the end of twenty rewrites those thirty pages were the first two lines of the book, and that was it.
"What is amazing is that the third book ever got written at all, that it got into existence and was as good as it was. But it is patchy, simply because it was written in circumstances I wouldn't want to build a bookcase under, let alone write a book.
"But it's true of each book I've written that I've hated it, and then written the next book, and was so busy hating the next book I discovered I rather liked the previous book. There are problems in the third book which have to do with the way I handled the plot: since it was actually a plotted story, occasionally you can hear the grinding gears where I had to do something which had to establish a plot point, and at the same time had to be funny, and I'd have to overstretch to make it funny. That's the real problem: you can sort of hear the tyres screech around a few corners.
"The struggle between substance and structure reached a
pitch with the third book, as it was the one where I had a very detailed plan of the logical structure, and virtually none of that actually got into the book. I always go off at tangents, but whereas before I'd follow the tangents and go on from there, this time I was determined to go back to the plot each time. The
tangents remained purely as tangents.
"So there was a real fight going on between the way I felt I ought to be doing things and the way things naturally end up getting done. That's why it has a slightly bitchy feeling - I keep yanking it back to where it's going even though it hasn't shown any inclination to go there: an awful lot of the explanations in my outline never got anywhere near the book, and every time you get yanked back to the plot you don't get told what the plot is.
"I think I must be a very weird person.
"On the other hand, some of my favourite bits of actual
writing are in that book: the Agrajag section, and the flying bit. I didn't revise any of the flying bit - it was all done first draft (although I cheated slightly, as, being aware I had written the entire sequence straight off, I felt slightly superstitious about it, and left things I could have revised).
"I wasn't pleased with the resolution of the Agrajag episode it was a bit perfunctory, and I should have got that right. Overall I think Life, the Universe, and Everything has some of the best and some of the worst Hitchhiker's writing in it."
Geoffrey Perkins suggested to me that Life, the Universe,
and Everything had a succession of endings (in chapters 33 and 34) because Douglas had felt that the book wasn't long enough.
"No, that's not true. Actually, it's one of the longest of the books. It was almost the opposite - when I got the proofs back from Pan I read through and had the niggling feeling there was something wrong. If it had been a small thing wrong I would have spotted it immediately, but it was one of those things that was so big and wrong that it takes you a while to see exactly what it is.
"What it was was this: there were two chapters missing.
"Those two had disappeared and actually turned up later in
America, by which time the number of pages in the final bound copy had actually been determined. And that is why, in the
English edition, the text of the book carries on to the very last page. There aren't any ads or anything in the back of the book.
But it's actually quite a long book.
"No, that stuff wasn't put in because the book wasn't long
enough, but because there was a bit I wanted to put in that I hadn't managed to get in anywhere else, which was the story of The Reason. That's one of my favourite bits, that no one else seems to have responded to very well.
"When you write you often feel a constant salvage from
impending catastrophe. I mean, there's a constant disastrous bit followed by disastrous bit, and just occasionally you come up with a bit of which you think, `Oh, I'll pat myself on the back for that.'
That bit was one of those. I actually thought it was quite neat.
"But the problem of the third book is that I have a plot
which actually signifies something, and there are momentous
events afoot, but I'd created such a feckless bunch of characters that before writing each scene I'd think, `Well, OK, who's
involved here?' and I'd mentalIy go around each of the characters in my mind explaining to them what was going on, and they
would all say, `Yeah? Well so what? I don't want to get involved.'
Either they didn't want to get involved or they didn't understand.
"In the end, Slartibartfast had to become the character who had to get them all to get a move on, and that really wasn't in his nature either. You see, all the characters are essentially character parts. I had a lot of supporting roles and no main character."
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ON WRITING HUMOUR
"Writing comes easy. All you have to do is stare at a blank piece of paper until your forehead bleeds.
"I find it ludicrously difficult. I try and avoid it if at all possible. The business of buying new pencils assumes gigantic proportions. I have four word processors and spend a lot of time wondering which one to work on. All writers, or most, say they find writing difficult, but most writers I know are surprised at how difficult I find it.
"I usually get very depressed when writing. It always seems to me that writing coincides with terrible crises breaking up my life. I used to think these crises had a terrible effect on my being able to write; these days I have a very strong suspicion that it's the sitting down to write that precipitates the crises. So quite a lot of troubles tend to get worked out in the books. It's usually below the surface. It doesn't appear to tackle problems at a personal level, but it does, implicitly, even if not explicitly.
"I'm not a wit. A wit says something funny on the spot. A
comedy writer says something very funny two minutes later. Or in my case, two weeks later.
"I don't think I could do a serious book anyway. I'm sure
that jokes would start to creep in. I actually do think that comedy is a serious business: when you are working on something you have to take it absolutely seriously; you have to be passionately committed to it. But you can't maintain that if you are going to stay sane. So when I talk about it to other people I tend to be flippant about it. I'm always so glad to have got through it, I say, `It's just jokes'. It's a relief.
"What I do now on many occasions is have, say, an
inconsequential idea for a throwaway line that seems quite neat, then I go to huge lengths to create the context in which to throw that line away and make it appear that it was just a throwaway line, when in fact you've constructed this huge edifice off which to chuck this line. It's a really exhausting way of writing but.
when it works...
"Often the things that seem frivolous and whimsical are the 
hardest to get right. Take the opening section of Life, the
Universe, and Everything, which is something I'm quite pleased with. They are stuck on prehistoric Earth, and then suddenly they find themselves on Lord's Cricket Ground, which comes
about because they chased a sofa across a field. It all sounds inconsequential or ilIogical or whatever, but completely belies the fact that I tried over and over again, and rewrote that bit over and over, going absolutely crazy with it until I eventually found the right elements to create the air of whimsical inconsequence, if you like. So I could come right-up at the end of that long section with, `They suddenly found themselves in the middle of the pitch at Lord's Cricket Ground, St John's Wood, London, with Australia leading and England needing so many runs to win' (I forget the exact quote). Now, in order to chuck away a line like that at the end of the chapter, you needed all that stuff about Ford coming back and explaining what he has been doing in Africa, which was obviously very unpleasant, and then him trying to explain about the flotsam and jetsam, and eddies in the space-time continuum (which was really a very silly joke, but you are allowed the odd silly joke) and the sofa, and so on.
"lt required all that just to be able to suddenly say Bang!
Here they were somewhere else, because if you do just say that without getting all the rhythm right, then it doesn't work. It wouldn't have been enough for them to just be magically
transported without it suddenly being a tremendous surprise
coming at that moment.
KIt's those kind of effects that take an awful lot of
engineering, when you don't necessarily know what the answer is going to be, you are just thrashing around in the dark trying to find something somewhere that's going to help you get to that point. And when you are operating within a convention which
says (or seems to say) `anything goes', you have to be extremely careful how you use that. I think if I have a strength as a writer it is in recognising that and trying to deal with it, and if I have a weakness it's that I don't always deal with it as well as I would like to be able to.
KAnyway, the reason I liked that bit where they appeared at Lord's so much was that I knew what a huge problem I had
solved and the fact that it wouldn't appear to the reader to be a transition from one bit to another. And the reader would feel, `Well, that was easy, wasn't it? You say Here they are in one place, then Here they are in another?' But for that to be easy you have to do an awful lot of engineering."
- Douglas Adams,1984.
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When Life, the Universe, and Everything was released the critical response was far less favourable than that for the first two books - and most of the critics said similar things:
"The third time around I found Arthur Dent and his
ridiculous dressing gown - why hasn't he found a change of
clothes somewhere along the line? - increasingly tedious (As noted, Life, the Universe, and Everything is the first place it is seen in print that Arthur is still wearing a dressing gown, something Douglas only discovered in the television series when the sequence that reclothed him on the Heart of Gold was cut.); never a very substantial hero, he is in danger of being shrivelled in the heat of his author's imagination. Perhaps Adams should now look beyond SF; I feel that his cynicism and detachment are too strong for a genre which depends so much on naivety and trust. . ."
(Kelvin Johnston, The Observer)
"... the humour depends on a limited repertoire of
gimmicks, and this third volume, though by no means lacking in enthusiastic drive, does little to suggest that the idea could or should be taken much further from here..." (Richard Brown,
Times Literary Supplement)
"Fans will relish the mixture as before... but signs of
padding and self-parody suggest that Adams would be wise to
avoid a fourth." (Martin Hillman, Tribune)
Even the interviewers, most of them obviously fans, were
complaining to Douglas that Life, the Universe, and Everything was less funny than the earlier books. And Douglas, hating the book, couldn't have agreed with them more. In his defence, he pointed out how depressed he had been during the writing, how he felt he was no longer writing in his own voice, how writing a third Hitchhiker's book had been a major mistake, and one he would not repeat.
"After I wrote the second Hitchhiker's book, I swore on the souls of my ancestors that I would not write a third. Having written the third, I can swear on the souls of the souls of my ancestors there will not be another," was a typical quote, and, "I utterly intend not to write another sequel," was another.
What he wanted to do next, he told all the interviewers,
would have nothing to do with the Hitchhiker's characters.
He'd write a stage play, perhaps. Or a film on something else.
Definitely, indubitably, unarguably, nothing else with
Hitchhiker's connections in any shape, colour or form. But it was not long before the souls of the souls of Douglas's ancestors were revolving in the graves of their graves.
Making Movies
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I WENT TO HOLLYWOOD, and I kept thinking, `This is just like going to Hollywood' The experience of it conformed far more
closely to the one that everyone said I'd have than the one I expected to have. I told people, `This is going to work! It's going to be great!' But I fell foul of all the clichs of Hollywood...
- Douglas Adams, November 1983, on his return from LA.
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In 1979 Douglas was approached with an offer he found almost irresistible: a Hitchhiker's film. All he had to do was sign a piece of paper, and he would have $50,000 in his hand. The only
trouble was that what the director seemed to have in mind was "Star Wars with jokes".
"We seemed to be talking about different things, and one
thing after another seemed not quite right, and I suddenly realised that the only reason I was going ahead with it was the money.
And that, as the sole reason, was not good enough (although I had to get rather drunk in order to believe that). I was quite pleased with myself for not doing it, in the end. But I knew that we were doing it for TV anyway at that time.
"I'm sometimes accused of only being in it for the money. I always knew there was a lot of money to be made out of the film, but when that was the whole thing prompting me to do it, when the only benefit was the money, I didn't want to do it. People should remember that."
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FORD: What is it you're after?
ZAPHOD: Well, it's partly the curiosity, partly a sense of
adventure, but mostly I think it's the fame and the
money.
FORD: Money?
2APHOD: Yes, money in mind-mangling amounts.
FORD: Zaphod, last time I knew you, you were one of the
richest men in the Galaxy. What do you want
money for?
ZAPHOD: Oh, I lost it all.
FORD: All of it? What did you do, gamble it away?
ZAPHOD: No, I left it in a taxi.
FORD: Stylish.
- Unused dialogue, first radio series.
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A couple of years later, Terry Jones (of Monty Python, and a scriptwriter and director in his own right) decided that he would like to make a Hitchhiker's film. The concept was to do a story that was based solidly in the first radio series, but pretty soon Douglas began to have second thoughts. He had done it four
times (radio, theatre, book, record) and had recently done it for a fifth time (television), so decided that, in order to avoid the problems of repetition that would occur if he wrote the same script again ("I didn't want to drag it through another medium-I was in danger of becoming my own word processor"), they would create a new story that would be "totally consistent with what had gone before, for the sake of those people who were
familiar with Hitchhiker's, and totally self-contained for the sake of those who weren't. And that began to be a terrible conundrum and in the end Terry and I said, `It would be nice to do a film together... but let's start from scratch, and not make it
Hitchhiker's.' Also, Terry and I have been great friends for a long time, but have had no professional links. And there's a slight risk you take, when you go and do a professional job with a friend, that it might spoil things. So we didn't do it."
In 1982 Douglas went to California with John Lloyd to write The Meaning of Liff, and it was then that he was approached by two people with whom he got on extremely well, Michael Gross (Gross was originally an artist and designer for Natwnal Lampoon, and was the man responsible for the famous cover showing a dog with a pistol to its head, captioned `Buy this magazine or we shoot the dog!') and Joe Medjuck, about a Hitchhiker's film.
At the time Douglas was excited by the possibilities of what could be done with computers, having seen some amazing special effects and technical work (imagine real computer graphics, done with computers!), and decided that he would write the film. He moved to Los Angeles, taking his girlfriend Jane Belson with him, bought a Rainbow word processor, and began to write.
Mike and Joe were producers working for Ivan Reitman,
then known only for Animal House, now better known for
1984's smash-hit Ghostbusters, and unfortunately there was not the same rapport between Adams and Reitman as there had been between Adams and the other two.
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FRANKIE: Now, Earth creature. As you know, we've been at
this Ultimate Question business for seventeen and a
half million years.
BENJY: Oh, longer, surely.
FRANKIE: No, it just seems longer.
- White mice dialogue, cut from first radio series.
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Douglas now describes 1983 as a `lost year'. He and Jane hated Los Angeles, missed London and their friends. He found it hard to work, spending much of his time learning how to work a
computer, playing computer games, learning to scuba dive, and writing unsatisfactory screenplays.
Transforming Hitchhiker's into a film hit two snags. The first was that of organising the material: "There are inherent problems with the material. It's a hundred minute film, of which the first twenty-five minutes are concerned with the destruction of Earth; then you start a whole new story which has to be told in seventy-five minutes, and not overshadow what went before. It's very very tricky, and I've had endless problems getting the structure right. With radio and television you have three hours to play with.
"The material just doesn't want to be organised. Hitchhiker's by its very nature has always been twisty and turny, and going off in every direction. A film demands a certain shape and discipline that the material just isn't inclined to fit into.
The other problem was that Ivan Reitman and Douglas Adams
did not see eye to eye on the various drafts of the screenplay. Again Douglas started using the phrase of "Star Wars with jokes".
Unfortunately this time he had already signed the contracts, was signed up as a co-producer, and had accepted amazingly large amounts of money to work on the film.
The versions of the script done in Los Angeles were attempts by Douglas Adams to meet Reitman halfway, of which he says, "They fell between two stools - they didn't please me, and they didn't please them."
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FRANKIE: We've got to have something that sounds good.
ARTHUR: Sounds good? An Ultimate Question that sounds 
good?
FRANKIE: Well, I mean, yes idealism, yes the dignity of pure research, yes the pursuit of truth in all its forms, but
there comes a point I'm afraid where you begin to
suspect that if there's any real truth, it's that the
entire multi-dimensional infinity of the Universe is
almost cenainly being run by a bunch of maniacs.
And if it comes to a choice between spending
another ten million years finding that out, and on
the other hand just taking the money and running,
then I for one could do with the exercise.
- More white mice dialogue, cut from the TV series this time.
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Los Angeles was getting Douglas more and more depressed. He
began to feel he was losing touch with the very things that had made him write what he did anyway. Eventually he decided to
leave.
"I didn't realise how much I hated LA until I left. Then the floodgates opened, and everything came out. It wasn't a good period for me, nor a productive period. I had a slight case of `Farnham' - that's the feeling you get at 4.00 in the afternoon, when you haven't got enough done. So there came a point when we all decided to disagree, and I'd come back to the UK where I felt more in touch, and try to get it right to my own satisfaction."
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TWO: What are you talking about, professional ethics?
VROOMFONDEL: Look, don't you mess with me about ethics. Let
me tell you that I have got three first class
degrees in Moral Sciences, Ethics, and Funher
Ethics, a PhD in A Lot Funher Ethics, and have
written three bestselling books on `Why Sex Is
Ethical', `Why More Sex Is Ethical' and `Five
Hundred and Seventy Three More Totally
Ethical Positions', so I know what I'm talking
about when I say that ethically that machine is a
write-off. Get rid of it.
- Unused dialogue from first radio series.
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Douglas returned to England, where he began to work once more on the screenplay of the film, in addition to beginning work on So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish and the Hitchhiker's computer game.
At that time he told me, "What I'm trying to do with the film is use a completely different selection process to that which went into the TV series. We are trying to show the stuff you didn't see in the 1'V series. So if you go back to the book, and find all the things not in the TV series. . . that's the film!
"Also, a lot of the film comes to have a completely different rationale. I've just put the scene with Marvin and the Battletank into the film, from the second book."
Liff, and Other Places
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ZAPHOD: Soulianis and Rahm! Two ancient furnaces of light
that have warmed this dead and barren planet
through the countless millennia, guarding its
priceless secrets. Just looking at it makes me feel I
could really, you know really. . . write travelogues.
- Unused dialogue from first radio series script.
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Douglas Adams and John Lloyd have collaborated on a number of projects. Some have already been mentioned. One, Dr Snuggles, was an animated television series for which two episodes were scripted by Adams and Lloyd. Dr Snuggles was "a cross between Professor Branestawm and Dr Dolittle" and produced by a Dutch television company for the international market.
One of their episodes apparently won them an award,
although neither of them has seen either the award or the series.
Dr Snuggles was essentially a children's series, and while the Adams/Lloyd scripted episode I have seen (Dr Snuggles and the Nervous River) was superior to the run of scripts for the series, fans of Douglas Adams's or John Lloyd's work are missing
nothing if they haven't seen it. The plot, however, was science fiction: Dr Snuggles meets a nervous river too scared to go down to the sea because huge chunks of the sea are disappearing. After a number of adventures, the Doctor goes off into space to discover that the water is being taken by aliens who thought we didn't want our water because we kept throwing rubbish into it. They give the water back, Dr Snuggles ties it to the back of his
spaceship and returns to Earth.
Another project of theirs was rather better known in Britain, but for some reason not a success in the US: a curious book
entitled The Meaning of Liff.
It began during the holiday in Corfu, which John and
Douglas had booked to write The Hitchhiker's Guide to the
Galaxy, but during which, for reasons already chronicled, only Douglas wrote the book. They were sitting in a tavern, playing charades and drinking retsina with a few friends. They had been drinking retsina all afternoon, and after a while decided they needed a game to play that did not require as much standing up.
Douglas remembered an English exercise he had been set at
school, fifteen years earlier, and suggested it as a game.
The rules were fairly simple: someone would say the name of a town, and someone else would say what the word meant.
As John Lloyd explained, "It was a fantastically enjoyable
holiday. For a month we got drunk, and we'd stay up all night playing these incredibly long games of charades.
"Then we began playing this placenames game. Near the end
of the holiday, I started writing them down, not having very much else to do. By the end of the holiday, we had about twenty of these things, some of the best ones in The Meaning of Liff, like `Ely'-
the first, tiniest inkling that something has gone terribly wrong.
"Many of them were to do with Greece, sitting in
wickerwork chairs and so on. And we kept doing them after the holiday was over."
Douglas clarified the concept on a press release for The
Meaning of Liff:
"We rapidly discovered there were an awful lot of experiences, ideas and situations that everybody knew and recognised, but which never got properly identified simply because there wasn't a word for them. They were all of the, `Do you ever have the situation where. . . ? or, `You know what feeling you get when...?' `You know, I always thought it was just me...' All it takes is a word, and the thing is identified.
"The vaguely uncomfortable feeling you get from sitting in a seat which is warm from somebody else's bottom is just as real a feeling as the one you get when a rogue giant elephant charges out of the bush at you, but hitherto only the latter has actually had a word for it. Now they both have words. The first one is `shoeburyness', and the second, of course, is `fear'.
"We started to collect more and more of these words and concepts and began to realise what an arbitrarily selective work the Oxford English Dictionary is. It simply doesn't recognise huge wodges of human experience.
"Like, for instance, standing in the kitchen wondering what you went in there for. Everybody does it, but because there isn't - or wasn't - a word for it, everybody thinks it's something that only they do and that they are therefore more stupid than other people. It is reassuring to realise that everybody else is as stupid as you are and that all we are doing when we are standing in the kitchen wondering what we came in here for is `woking'."
Following John Lloyd's disappointment with the
Hitchhiker's book, he was similarly disappointed over a comedy series he was meant to have been co-writing, To the Manor Born, starring Penelope Keith. Instead he found himself producing a BBC 2 satire show, Not the Nine O'Clock News, starring Pamela Stephenson, Rowan Atkinson, Mel Smith and Griff Rhys Jones.
After a while Not the Nine O'Clock News became a major
success (which, according to Douglas, meant that John in his turn spent a while being as obnoxious as Douglas had been in the early days of the success of Hitchhiker's), and spawned a number of records and books.
One of the books was the NOT 1982 calendar. Lloyd found
himself stuck for material to fill in space at the bottoms of some pages, and at the tops of some pages, and in quite a few of the middles, so he dug out 70 of the best definitions (he had
accumulated about 150) and inserted them into the book as
extracts from The Oxtail English Dictionary.
Faber and Faber, John's publisher, were very enthusiastic
about the definitions.
"They said, `This is the best idea in the whole calendar---
why don't you do it as a book? This time it was the reverse
situation: I hadn't expected Douglas to be very interested in doing it as a book, so I expected to do it on my own. Then
Douglas said, `Let's do it together' and 1 said, `Yes!', I can't stand doing things on my own, which is one reason why I'm a producer and not a writer."
The Meaning of Liff was written in September 1982, in a
rented beach hut in Malibu. The two of them sat on the beach, watched the ocean, drank beer, thumbed through a gazetteer, and thought up definitions. Douglas also started learning to scuba dive at this time. (He finished learning to scuba dive in Australia two years later, and has a number of wise sayings on the subject of sharks.) It was published in November 1983 by Pan (in a co-publishing deal with Faber and Faber) in a remarkable format (153mm by 82mm); a very small, very slim, very black book, with a bright orange sticker on the cover that proclaimed, "This Book lVill Change Your Life ! "
The `selling point summary' that went out to reps included: "Small format for discreet consultation on retrieval from inside pocket", "Authors expert in field" and "possible early quote from John Cleese's psychoanalyst" as selling points.
On its release it went to number four in the Sunday Times
bestseller lists. However, overall it didn't do as well as a Hitchhiker's book or, for that matter, a Not the Nine O'Clock News book.
As Douglas said at the time, "Normally I don't enjoy writing at all, but it was a real pleasure doing this book. But what's really nice is that my family and so on, who say, `Yes dear, it's nice about Hitchhiker's' - John's say the same about Not the Nine O'Clock News - love this book. My kid brother and sister like it.
"lt's selling briskly, but not as well as it could do. I think that's because people have no idea what it is - it's totally enigmatic and anonymous, unless you happen to recognise our
names. In both cases the product is more famous than the names - but on the other hand it has terrific word-of-mouth.
"But I enjoy it. I can reread it, whereas normally I cringe when I read my stuff."
The Meaning of Liff also kicked off a minor controversy in
the newspapers. Although it was well, and extensively, reviewed (primarily because it was so easily quotable - despite the
presence of the word `Ripon', described in The Meaning of Liff as: `[of literary critics] To include all the best jokes from the book in the review to make it look as if the critic had thought of them'), there were also accusations of plagiarism.
Having just undergone a traumatic time trying to get a
certain advertising agency to pay up for having stolen the idea for an ad campaign using the phrase The Oxtail English Dictionary (see `Cannock Chase' in The Meaning of Liff), Adams and Lloyd were rather put out when it was widely pointed out that the idea had originated in an essay written by Paul Jennings, called Ware, Wye and Watford published in the late 1950s.
Douglas suggested that the teacher who gave him the exercise had probably got the idea from the Jennings book, and sent
Jennings a note of apology.
(Miles Kington in The Times rushed to Adams's and Lloyd's
defence, pointing out the essential difference between the two: that while Jennings had been primarily interested in the sound and flavour of the placename [he suggested that `Rickmansworth'- as in `a small cafe in. . .' - was really the nominal rent paid to the Lord of the Manor for hay; it sounds right, but isn't particularly funny], Lloyd-Adams had been far more concerned in amassing
meanings for which there were no words previously in existence, the actual word or placename they picked being less than
important.)
An additional coincidence (although certain devoted fans
have woven intricate conspiracy theories around it) was its release at almost exactly the same time as the Monty Python film, The Meaning of Life. The film's title sequence shows the title, carved, in classically modest Terry Gilliam fashion, out of huge slabs of rock; a lightning bolt removes the bottom bar of the E, turning it into an F - The Meaning of Liff. It was a meaningless
coincidence, discovered by Douglas and Terry Jones slightly
before the release of either of their products, but too late for anything to be changed. It was a coincidence but if you wish to concoct conspiracy theories (and what does happen in the forty-second minute of the film?) then go right ahead.
Although The Meaning of Liff was published in the US in a
different format and with some extra words, it is the least known of Douglas's books there.
"I did some college readings in America. You would think
that a high concentration of people who knew what I had written would be in those audiences, yet hardly anybody there had heard of The Meaning of Liff. I read sections, and they went over well.
People kept asking me where they could find the book. No one could find it. I think it suffered from nobody knowing what to do with it. "
`Liff', incidentally, is a town in Scotland. Its meaning? A book, the contents of which are totally belied by its cover. For instance, any book the dust jacket of which bears the words, "This book will change your life! ".
Postscript: Adams and Lloyd, assisted by Stephen Fry, returned to Liff in their work for The Utterly Utterly Merry Comic Relief Christmas Book, co-edited by Douglas Adams, and in 1990 an expanded version, The Deeper Meaning of Liff, was published.
SLATFAT Fish
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
CUT TO A BLURRY CLOSE-UP OF ZAPHOD
LYING ASLEEP ON THE GROUND.
FORD: Zaphod! Wake up!
ZAPHOD: Mmmmmmmwwerrrr?
TRILLIAN: Hey come on, wake up.
SLOWLY THE PICTURE FOCUSSES.
ZAPHOD: Just let me stick to what I'm good at, yeah?
HE GOES BACK TO SLEEP.
FORD: You want me to kick you?
2APHOD: Would it give you a lot of pleasure?
FORD: No.
ZAPHOD: Nor me. So what's the point? Stop bugging me.
TRILLIAN: He got a double dose of the gas. Two windpipes.
ZAPHOD: Hey, lose the talk, will you? It's hard enough trying to sleep anyway. What's the matter with the
ground? It's all cold and hard.
FORD: It's gold.
PULL BACK RAPIDLY AS ZAPHOD LEAPS
TO HIS FEET.
WE SEE THAT THEY APPEAR TO BE
STANDING ON A VAST SHINING PLAIN OF
SOLID GOLD.
ZAPHOD: Hey, who put all that there?
FORD: It's nothing.
ZAPHOD: Nothing? Gold by the square mile nothing?
TRILLIAN: This world is an illusion.
ZAPHOD: You pick now to become Buddhists?
FORD: It's just a catalogue.
ZAPHOD: A who ?
FORD: A catalogue. It's not real. Just a projection.
ZAPHOD: How can you say that?
HE DROPS TO HIS KNEES AND STARTS
FEELING THE "GROUND".
TRILLIAN: We both came round a while ago. We shouted and
yelled till somebody came. . .
FORD: And then carried on shouting and yelling till they
put us in their planet catalogue. They said they'd
deal with us later. This is all Sens-O-Tape.
HE POINTS UP INTO THE SKY.
WE SEE THERE ARE SOME WORDS. THEY
SAY:
"MAGRATHEAN PLANET CATALOGUE. BK
THREE.
DESIGN 35/C/6b.
`ULTRASULTAN'S ECSTASY'.
LANDFORMATION: GOLD.
OPTIONAL EXTRAS: SILVER MOON,
ZAN-TEQUILA OCEANS.
ALL ORDERS PAYABLE IN ADVANCE."
ZAPHOD: Ah, fetid photons, you wake me from my own
perfectly good dream to show me somebody else's?
TRILLIAN: We didn't wake you earlier. The last planet was
knee deep in fish.
ZAPHOD: Fish ?
FORD: Fish.
ZAPHOD: Well, tell them to turn it off. Get us out of here!
HE YELLS UP AT THE SKY.
ZAPHOD: Get us out of here!
IN THE SKY THE WRITlNG CHANGES. IT
NOW SAYS:
"MAGRATHEAN PLANET CATALOGUE BK
THREE:
DESIGN 35/C/7. `LEATHERLAND'.
LANDFORMATION: FINEST ARCTURAN
MEGA-OX HIDE.
OPTIONAL EX?'RAS: STEEL MOUNTAIN
STUDS. "
WE SEE THAT THEY ARE NOW STANDING
ON A PLAIN OF SHINING BLACK
LEATHER WHICH UNDULATES AWAY
INTO THE DISTANCE. GIANT STRAPS AND
BUCKLES ARE ALSO VISIBLE.
ZAPHOD: Get us out of here!
THE SKY WRlTlNG CHANGES AGAIN. (I'M
GIVING THE DETAILS IN FULL, THOUGH
IT IS NOT NECESSARY TO DWELL ON
THEM LONG ENOUGH TO READ THEM
ALL).
"MAGRATHEAN PLANET CATALOGUE BK
THREE.
DESIGN 35/C/e.'WORLD OF PLAYBEING'.
LANDFORMATION: EPIDERMlTEX.
OP1'IONAL EXTRAS: ASK FOR SPECIAL
CATALOGUE."
WE SEE THAT THE NEW LANDSCAPE THAT
HAS MATERIALISED AROUND THEM IS
SOFT AND PINK AND CURIOUSLY
UNDULATING. THERE ARE HILLS
AROUND THEM WHICH ARE GENTLY
ROUNDED WITH RED PEAKS.
ZAPHOD: Get us...hey, I think I could learn to like it here.
What do you think FORD?
FORD: I think it's a mistake to mix geography with
pleasure.
ZAPHOD: What's that meant to mean?
FORD: Nothing. It's just a form of mouth exercise. Ask
Trillian.
ZAPHOD: Ask her what?
FORD: Anything you like. (HE WANDERS OFF
ENIGMATICALLY.)
ZAPHOD (TO
TRILLIAN): Is he trying to drive me mad?
TRILLIAN: Yes.
ZAPHOD: Why ?
TRILLIAN: To stop all this driving us insane.
MEANWHILE A SLOGAN HAS RISEN
ABOVE THE HORIZON. IT SAYS IN LARGE
LETTERS: "WHATEVER YOUR TASTES
MAGRATHEA CAN CATER FOR THEM. WE
ARE NOT PROUD."
- Unused scene from early draft of TV series, Episode
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
Four.
Having written one Hitchhiker's book he had been unsatisfied with, Life, the Universe, and Everything, and having sworn
"never again" on the Hitchhiker's saga, why did Douglas Adams sign a contract to write the fourth book in the trilogy?
Firstly, he was under a great deal of pressure to write it, both from his agent and his publishers. On his return from the US, he explained, "I felt so disoriented being in Los Angeles, and so keen to be home and just sort of grab hold of things I knew again, it became very easy to give in to the temptation of sort of re---
establishing what I knew I could do, by doing another Hitchhiker's book.
Secondly, he did have God's Final Message to His Creation;
and since he was never going to tell people what The Ultimate Question was, he felt that that was something he should reveal.
Thirdly, the advance he was offered topped six hundred
thousand pounds.
He signed the contract.
I asked him about the book in November 1983: "I can tell
you more about the working title than what it's actually going to be about. The working title is So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish. It's about something left hanging at the end of the third book, which is Arthur's quest to find God's final message to His creation.
"My agent thinks So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish isn't the right title for the book, since the first three all have `Galaxy' or `Universe' in the title, so he wants me to call it God's Final Message to His Creation. I don't know, but I don't think that has the ironical ring to it, in the way that that most modest of titles Life, the Universe, and Everything does. Or doesn't. However that
sentence started. Also I do want it to be a quotation from the first book, as the titles of the other two books were."
While Ed Victor, Douglas's agent, was not too keen on So
Long, and Thanks for All the Fish as a title, everyone else was-especially Douglas's American publisher (and five-sixths of the advance money had come from America). At this point Douglas
had a title and a contract. And an idea, but not much of one.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
DEEP THOUGHT: It occurs to me that running a programme like
this is bound to create considerable interest in
the whole area of popular philosophy, yes?
MAJIKTHISE: Keep talking. . .
DEEP THOUGHT: Everyone's going to have their own theories
about what answer I'm eventually going to come
up with, and who better to capitalise on that
media market than you yourselves?
BY THIS TIME WE ARE QUITE CLOSE IN
ON ONE OF DEEP THOUGHT'S I'V
SCREENS. A NEW SCENE COMES UP ON
IT: A TV PROGRAMME CALLED "DEEP
THOUGHT SPECIAL". AT THE BOTTOM
OF THE SCREEN FLASHES THE WORD
"SIMULATION" WHICH ALTERNATES
WITH THE WORDS "MERELY A
SUGGESTION". 'THOUGH NO SOUND
COMES WITH THE PROGRAMME WE
SEE THAT IT FEATURES BOTH
VROOMFONDEL AND MAJIKTHISE AS
IMPORTANT-LOOKING PUNDITS ON A
DISCUSSION PROGRAMME. THEY
APPEAR TO BE ARGUING ON EITHER
SIDE OF A SWINGOMETER WHICH IS
LABELLED "ANSWER PREDICTOR". AS
THEY ARGUE THE SWINGOMETER
NEEDLE MOVES BACKWARDS AND
FORWARDS BETWEEN TWO EXTREMES
MARKED "LIFE AFFIRMATlON" AND
"HOPELESSNESS AND FUTILITY". THESE
DETAILS ARE NOT PARTICULARLY
IMPORTANT IN THEMSELVES IF WE
CAN'T MAKE THEM OUT. THE
IMPORTANT THING TO ESTABLISH IS
THAT IT LOOKS IMPORTANT. THE
REAL VROOMFONDEL AND
MAJIKTHISE ARE CLEARLY
FASCINATED BY THIS PICTURE.
DEEP THOUGHT: So long as you can keep violently disagreeing
with each other and slagging each other off in
the popular press, and so long as you have clever
agents, you can keep yourselves on the gravy
train for life.
- From early draft of TV series, Episode Four.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
Life, the Universe, and Everything had given Douglas the problem of trying to force jokes onto a carefully worked-out plot. This time he would just follow the story wherever it led him. For the first time, the book was to be released in the UK in a hardback edition first (rather than a later library and book-club hardback). The presses were booked. The deadlines were agreed. The final-final deadlines were agreed. The extensions-beyond-which-one-could-not-extend were agreed.
Douglas was late.
Although he had made a number of notes on the book, had
toyed with various ideas, including pulling in some of the weirder stuff from the second radio series, and getting a computer
spreadsheet programme to organise his ideas for him, he had not written it in his Islington home (incidentally, Life, the Universe, and Everything is the only Hitchhiker's book Douglas has ever written at home, as opposed to somewhere else. It has been
suggested that this was because he had only just moved in there, and it seemed like somewhere else).
He had gone down to the West Country, where earlier books
had been written, but did not write it there.
Which was why the sales kit that went out to Pan Books'
sales representatives in late Summer 1984 began as follows:
The great test of a promotion person is to devise a promotion for a book about which one knows absolutely zilch.
The same goes for a representative selling such a book. At the time of writing Douglas Adams is holed up somewhere, I
believe, in the West Country, incommunicado, as they say.
Prayers are held every morning in the editorial department
along the lines of, "Please God grant to Douglas Adams the gift of inspiration along with his daily bread so that he can deliver the manuscript in time for us to make publication date." We just hope we have a fund of goodwill up there! But of course you know that all the Hitch Hiker promotions have been
devised without sight of a book. That's what makes working on them such fun...
In the sales pack were such assorted goodies as badges, and
posters showing birds under glass bowls. Also there was
Douglas's promo piece for the book, a plot description that
began:
EVERYTHING YOU WANTED TO KNOW ABOUT THE
FIRST THREE BOOKS BUT NEVER THOUGHT TO ASK.
It deals with that most terrible and harrowing experience in life - trying to remember an address which somebody told you
but you didn't write down.
At the end of Life, the Universe, and Everything Arthur Dent was told where to find God's Final Message to His
Creation, only he can't remember where it was. He tries
everything he can to jog his memory, meditation, mind reading, hitting himself about the head with blunt objects - he even tries to combine them all by playing mixed doubles tennis---
but none of it works.
Still it plagues him - God's Final Message to His Creation. He can't help feel[ing] it must be important.
In desperation he decides to throw himself off a cliff in the hope that his life will then flash before his eyes on the way down. As to what will happen when he reaches the bottom---
he decides he'll meet that challenge when he gets to it. He lost all faith in the straight forward operation of cause and effect the day he got up intending to catch up on some reading and brush the dog and ended up on prehistoric Earth with a man from
Betelgeuse and a spaceship-load of alien telephone sanitisers.
He picks a nice day, a nice cliff, and does it. . . he falls. . .
he remembers. . .
He remembers an awful lot of other things besides, which throws him into such a state of shock that he misses the ground completely and ends up in the top of a tree with scratches, bruises, and a lot to think about. All his past life on Earth takes on a completely new meaning. . .
Now he really wants to find God's Final Message to His Creation, and knows where to look.
Arthur Dent is going home.
Although a fascinating book outline, this is light-years away from the book that eventually came out.
Before starting the book, Douglas had received a lecture
from Sonn Mehta, Pan s Editorial Director, and Ed Victor, his agent, on getting the book in on time.
"To begin with, I had been slightly unwilling to write
another Hitchhiker's book. Then I went off to do long
promotional tours, and got very involved in the writing of the computer game, which took a lot of time. And then I had to write another version of the screenplay.
"So I kept putting off the book over and over, taking on all these other things I would do, and then ended up having to write the book in a terribly short space of time, still not absolutely certain that I wanted to do it."
In order to make the deadline (remember, the presses had
been booked to print the book, the quantities - even the reprint times - had been worked out in advance) the book had to be
written in less than three weeks.
The last time a situation like this had occurred was with The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, when Douglas had wound up in monastic seclusion, hidden away from the world and doing nothing but writing for a month.
Once more the job of finding Douglas somewhere to write
fell to Jacqueline Graham of Pan, who recalls, "I'd just got back from maternity leave and I was asked by Sonny Mehta to find a suite in a central London hotel - near to Hyde Park, so Douglas could go jogging - with air conditioning, and a Betamax video for Sonny. I rang around, and Sonny chose the Berkeley. They had a very posh suite, with a small bedroom and a big bedroom - Sonny gave Douglas the small bedroom, as, he said, Douglas wouldn't be needing it very much."
Sweating over his typewriter, Douglas sat and wrote. He was allowed out twice a day for exercise. Sonny Mehta sat next door, watching videos and acting as on-the-spot editor.
At this time, Douglas sent another synopsis of So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish to Pan and his American publishers.
While this bore rather more relation to the book that eventually came out than the original synopsis, it concluded:
Along the way they meet some new people and some old,
including:
Wonko the Sane and his remarkable Asylum.
Noslenda Bivenda, the Galaxy's greatest Clam opener.
An Ultra-Walrus with an embarrassing past.
A lorry driver who has the most extraordinary reason for
complaining about the weather.
Marvin the Paranoid Android, for whom even the good times
are bad,
Zaphod Beeblebrox, ex-Galactic President with two heads,
at least one of which is saner than an emu on acid. And
introducing...
A Leg.
It may be observed that not all of these characters made it into the book as it eventually came out.
Douglas explained: "The Leg was something I rather liked
actually, and it came curiously enough, out of the film script. But as soon as I took it out of context it fell apart, and I couldn't get it to work elsewhere.
"Do you remember the robot who had the fight with
Marvin? I never had any clear visual description of the battletank, but it was going to appear in the movie at one point, and I wanted to give it lots of mechanical legs. The idea was that it was like a dinosaur - a dinosaur has one subsidiary brain to control its tail, and I thought this machine would have lots of subsidiary brains to deal with different bits of it. After the thing smashed itself to bits, the one thing that would be left with some kind of
independent existence would be one of its legs.
"It was actually one of my favourite new things that I came up with in the film script. Of course, we don't know what will happen with the film script, but that bit will almost certainly never make it into the completed version, not because it's not good, but because it's completely detachable from the rest and because the script's too long.
"The Galaxy's Greatest Clam Opener. . . I don't remember
very much about that. It had something to do with a seafood
restaurant in Paris. There was someone I had in mind for the character: he was the only person who could open this particular type of clam, which was one of the great gstronomic experiences.
I'm not sure why it was one of the great gastronomic experiences but I think it was because whenever you ate it you got a flicker of memory all the way back to the primeval ooze. It might have had some plot function, but I can't remember what, and anyway, it didn't make it beyond the very early version.
"The Ultra-Walrus with the embarrassing past... well, this is very self-indulgent, I'm afraid. I got the idea after watching Let it Be and feeling very sorry for this obviously very embarrassed policeman having to go and make the Beatles stop playing. I mean knowing this is actually an extraordinary moment: the Beatles are playing live on a rooftop in London. And this poor policeman's job was to go and tell them to stop it. I thought that somebody would be so mortified that they would do anything not to be in this embarrassing position.
"So I thought of someone who was placed in such an
embarrassing position, one he hated so much, that he would just want not to be there. The thought goes through his mind, `I
would do anything rather than do what I now have to do',
whereupon someone appears and says to him, `Look, you have
the option to either go and do this thing you don't want to do...
or I can offer you a life on a completely different planet.' So he opts to go and be this strange sort of walrus creature. And it's a rather dull life as a walrus, but on the other hand he's perpetually grateful for the fact that he wasn't in this incredibly embarrassing position, and had ended up a walrus.
"The reason I made it a walrus, was... well, first of all I didn't know what the alternative life would be, and then when Gary Day Ellison, who designed the cover, showed me that
lenticular picture I thought, `I might as well make him a walrus'.
It's because Gary always designs a cover that can clearly not have any function in relation to the book, and if I still had a chance I'd always try and work it in somehow. Not that it ever actually happened that way."
In November the book was released in England and
America. The English cover was all black, with a lenticular
picture of a dinosaur that changed into a walrus (and vice versa) stuck on the front. (There are no dinosaurs or walruses in So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish.) The American cover,
marginally more logically, showed some leaping dolphins. (There are no dolphins in So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish, but there are more dolphins than there are walruses or dinosaurs.)
It was in October that the world's most expensive
Hitchhiker's book was sold. At a dinner-party at Douglas's
British inventorial entrepreneur Sir Clive Sinclair spotted a pre-publication copy of So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish and asked if he could have it. Douglas refused, pointing out it was the only copy he had, whereupon Sir Clive whipped out his cheque book, and offered Douglas $1,000 for the charity of his choice, providing he could have the book.
Douglas had him make the cheque out to Greenpeace.
However, Douglas's hesitation to give the book away may
have less to do with the fact it was his only copy, and more to do with the fact that it was not a book with which he was altogether happy.
So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish is very different from the other Hitchhiker's books, and the critical reaction to it was mixed. For many of the fans it was a disappointment: they
wanted more Zaphod, more Marvin, more space; they wanted
Arthur to make it with Trillian; they wanted to find out how the Agrajag problem resolved: why Arthur Dent was the most
important being in the universe (and even funnier than the frogs), they wanted towel jokes and extracts from The Hitchhiker's
Guide to the Galaxy. What they got was a love story. So Long, and Thanksfor All the Fish is no longer science fiction, and, for much of the book, it is no longer humour (although it is often funny, and has certain science fiction elements in it). It was not the book the fans were expecting, and many of them were disappointed.
Many of the mainstream critics, however, preferred it, finding the gentler pace and the relatively down-to-earth tone easier to cope with, and coming up with such quotes as "Fish is the best evidence yet that Adams is not simply a funny sci-fi writer but a bomb-heaving satirist" (Time); others commented that it read as if it had been written in a hotel room in two weeks, with such
comments as "a work in which bits and pieces of different
sketches orbit around a non-existent plot" (The Times). So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish went on to sell as well as any of the other books, and won the City Limits `best book' award for 1985
(voted on by the readership of the London listings magazine).
Talking to Adams about the book, one finds a mix of
emotions: relief and slight embarrassment that it sold as well as it did, added to the feeling that he had `used up a life' with the book.
Why weren't the expected characters in the book? "Panly
because they didn't fit, and partly because I didn't want to do them. It was like a chore - people were saying, `Let's have a Zaphod bit', and I didn't feel like doing a Zaphod bit!"
This attitude of `I am not going to buckle down to the wishes of the fans' comes across in the book, to its detriment, most obviously in Chapter 25, where, having asked, somewhat
rhetorically, whether or not Arthur Dent ever indulges the
pleasures of the senses other than flying and drinking tea,
Douglas comments, `Those who wish to know should read on.
Others may wish to skip on to the last chapter which is a good bit and has Marvin in it.' It is patronising and unfair. And
undoubtedly would have been cut from a later draft of the
manuscript had there been one. (Occasionally Douglas threatens that at some future date he will rewrite all four Hitchhiker's books into one massive, self-consistent tome.) Douglas continued, "You see, I didn't even want to do
Marvin, but then what happened was that I finally had an idea of something I wanted to do that would have to involve Marvin,
which is the way it should be. I didn't have that with Zaphod, or I couldn't. But when I needed the extra element for that scene it looked like a job for Marvin.
"It's very strange, that walking across the desert scene, when they find the message. I felt very haunted by that when I wrote it - it's not panicularly funny or anything, but curiously enough I was very proud of it. I actually felt very sorry for, and sympathetic with Marvin in that I felt close to the character in a way that sometimes I hadn't because I was just doing it out of duty.
"But yes, the book is lighter weight than the others. In a
sense I came close to owning up to that on the last page."
It was hard not to see parallels between Arthur Dent's return from space (which involves telling everybody he's just returned from California) and Douglas Adams's return from a not
altogether happy year in Los Angeles to the safer environs of Islington; and while he maintains that Fenchurch is no relation to Jane, his fiance (Fenchurch being based more on his memories of adolescent love), he admits there is an element of this in the book.
"It wouldn't be fanciful to say that there is an echo of my return from LA in there. But I do think that one problem with the book, and there are many, is that up to that point I had been writing pure fantasy, which I'd had to do as I'd destroyed the Earth in the first reel, so to speak. So my job was to make the fantastical and dreamlike appear to be as real and solid as
possible, that was always the crux of Hitchhiker's.
"Whereas in So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish a curious
kind of thing happened.I got back to the everyday and somehow for the first time it seemed to be unreal and dreamlike. It was rather in reverse. I think it's largely because I thought I'd get rid of this problem of not having the Earth there to relate to by just bringing it back, and I suppose a part of me knew, a part of me said that you can't really do that. So therefore it wasn't the real Earth, and therefore it was bound to become unreal and
dreamlike, and that was really a problem with the book.
"Also, you see, the character of Arthur Dent has undergone a fundamental change by then, because up to that point he has been our representative in a fantastical world, he has been Everyman, the person we can relate to, and through whose eyes we have seen the strange things that have happened. Now suddenly it's been turned around, and we have a real everyday Earth, and this
character who, far from being our representative, has just spent the last eight years of his life alternately living in a cave on prehistoric Earth or being flung around the galaxy.
"So he is no longer someone through whose eyes we can see
things. The whole thing has turned upside down, and I don't
think I had got to grips with that until I was too far committed.
"That's why I am staning afresh now, because I feel all the lines have gotten rather too tangled."
Whatever happened to the `jumping off a cliff' plot? "It was a structural idea I came up with which I still think is neat as a structure, but doesn't work as a book. The book would start with him leaping off a cliff, with the idea that just before you die your life flashes before you. There was something he wanted to
remember, and he'd deal with what happened when he got to the bottom when he got there. So the entire book would be a
flashback which would come from what he thought and he
remembered as he fell down the cliff. I decided after hacking away at that for a while that it's a short story structure, but not a novel structure. Some people might argue (and with, I think, a certain amount of justice) that I didn't achieve a novel structure in the end, so what was I making a fuss about?
"But I suppose one reason why a lot of that stuff went, why it never materialised, was I had the feeling during that period of the whole world looking over my shoulder while I was writing.
Every time someone would write to me and say, `What are you
going to do with this character?' or, `Why don't you do this to resolve this situation?', then you instantly shy away from it and think it's no longer yours to control.
"It seemed to me like there was too much to tie up and mop
up in Hitchhiker's, so that trying to write it like that would just be a continual task of knotting up the loose ends, when in fact it might be better just to think of something completely different to do.
So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish was to be the last word on Hitchhiker's. At least in novel form; there were still to be the computer games, the film, the towel, possibly more television and more radio - even this book. But in novel form the story had gone as far as it was going to go.
At least for then.
Douglas said so.
Do You Know Where Your Towel Is?
A TOWEL, AS EXPLAINED AT LENGTH in the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, is a jolly useful thing.
A towel is also a fairly obvious piece of merchandising.
While the merchandising properties of a number of anifacts
mentioned in the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy have obvious commercial potential - Joo Janta sunglasses, for example, which turn black when danger threatens, or Disaster Area records, or even the Guide itself - technology has not yet reached the point where these things could be manufactured in bulk, nor, indeed, at all.
Not so with towels.
At one point Marks and Spencer (A British chain store whose underwear can be found on two out of three British people.) considered marketing the towel of the book; however, nothing came of this.
In 1984 Douglas had lunch with Eugene Beer, of Birmingham
publicists Beer-Davies. (Eugene was handling the publicity for the Hitchhiker's computer game.) During the course of this lunch Douglas mentioned the abonive Marks and Spencer towel project.
Eugene immediately saw the potential in real, authorised, money-making towels, with the relevant page of Hitchhiker's emblazoned on it. He began marketing them, taking out an advert in Private Eye, and sending complimentary towels all over the place.
The complimentary towels were intended to cause the writers who received them to recommend them in print, something which happened almost without exception.
The towels were originally available in a son of purple and a son of blue. They were large, strong, good value, and did all the things that hitchhikery towels are well known for doing, in
addition to which they gave you something to-read on long
journeys, something that even Douglas Adams, in his initial
treatise on towels, failed to think of. The second edition of towels were available in `Squornshellous Silver' and `Beeblebrox Brown', and were 60" by 40" (A wide variety of merchandise, such as T-shirts, pens, badges, stickers, etc, is available from ZZ9 Plural 2 Alpha (37 Keen's Road, Croydon, Surrey, CRO 1AH). But no towels.).
Games with Computers
DOUGLAS ADAMS HAS ALWAYS been fascinated by gadgets of every kind. His home, and indeed his life, is awash with all those little devices designed to reduce the complications of the workaday world. Televisions and amplifiers, computers and cameras, tape players of all descriptions, electronic objects of every colour and size. "The tendency for me to take the piss out of technology is me taking the piss out of myself. Digital watches and a kitchen full of juice extractors - I'm a sucker for it!"
While the initial success of Hitchhiker's allowed him to
indulge his passion for tape players, Walkmans and the like, he remained for a long time on a battered manual typewriter, neither liking nor trusting computers.
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DEEP THOUGHT DESIGN:-
THE COMPUTER IS BASICALLY A TALL
WHITE TOWER WHICH TAPERS AS IT GOES
UP. AS IT GOES DOWN IT WIDENS OUT SO
THAT IT ACTUALLY BECOMES THE
FLOOR: YOU QUITE LITERALLY WALK UP
TO IT. TO EITHER SIDE OF IT AND SET
SLIGHTLY FORWARD OF IT ARE TWO
SIMILAR BUT SMALLER TOWERS. SET INTO
THE FRONT OF EACH TOWER IS A TV
SCREEN. THE SCREEN ON THE MAIN
TOWER HAS A PICTURE OF A MOUTH.
WHEN DEEP THOUGHT TALKS, THE
MOUTH MOVES IN SYNCH. ONE OF THE
OTHER SCREENS SHOWS A SINGLE EYE,
AND THE THIRD SCREEN SHOWS A SIDE
VIEW OF A SINGLE EAR. EACH EYE AND
EAR AND MOUTH SHOULD BE AS
ANONYMOUS AS POSSIBLE, BUT IT
SHOULD BE APPARENT THAT THEY ARE
NOT FROM THE SAME PERSON.
- Suggested design (first version) for Deep
Thought, from TV script, Episode Four.
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In a 1982 interview he revealed that he considered computers to be, if not intrinsically malevolent, then useless - either
HACTARs or EDDlEs. He had just moved into the Islington
flat, and had found it impossible to convince the various utilities companies' computers that he had in fact moved. "Dealing with the American Express computer," he told the reporter, "has been beyond Kafka's worst nightmares."
In retaliation he had created a scenario for Life, the Universe, and Everything in which a world much like our own is poised on the brink of nuclear Armageddon, and tipped over the brink not by a flock of geese or a madman's finger on a red button, but by a change-of-address card fouling up a computer. The scene never made it into the final draft.
He had tried to like computers, indeed had gone to a
computer show earlier that year, but had been overcome by
jargon and was forced to leave. His enthusiasm (bordering on messianic fervour) for computers did not really begin until 1983, when he spent seven months in Los Angeles, supposedly writing the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy film screenplay.
While it is true that he did write one and a half drafts of a screenplay over this time, it would be equally fair to say that he spent much of the time playing with his word processor and
getting involved with interminable computer games.
Douglas had received many requests to turn Hitchhiker's
Guide to the Galaxy into a computer game, and had so far refused all of them. However, the time spent playing computer games had given him definite ideas: he knew he wanted the Hitchhiker's game to be far more a problem-solving, interactive novel than an arcade or space invaders game.
In late 1983 he contacted Infocom, a Massachusetts based
company whose previous games had impressed him, and
suggested a collaboration. They agreed enthusiastically, and by January 1984 Douglas was in a position to announce, "I'm going to get the computer game done this year which will give me an excuse for playing around with my computer. I'll be doing the work on a computer in Boston and accessing it from here on
international packet-switching. I love all that!"
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NEW DEEP THOUGHT DESIGN:
DEEP THOUGHT IS A HUGE EDIFICE, AS
HUGE AS SET AND BUDGET LIMITATIONS
WILL ALLOW. IT IS BRILLIANT GOLD. IT IS
CLEARLY A COMPUTER, BUT IT BEARS AN
UNCANNY RESEMBLANCE TO A HUGE
FAT BUDDHA. THE FACT THAT IT DOES SO
MUST LOOK AWESOME AND IMPRESSIVE.
- Deep Thought design, (second version),
from TV script, Episode Four.
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Douglas Adams's collaborator on the computer game was an
American, Steve Meretzky. They began by corresponding via
electronic bulletin board, and then met in February 1984 for initial discussions. Adams wrote chunks of material, sent them via computer to Meretzky, who programmed them and sent them
back. Douglas Adams actually designed and wrote more than half the game; the rest was a joint effort, using Douglas's ideas and material, and Meretzky's computer experience. The game itself was released in late `84, and proved an immediate success. The packaging was imaginative, containing an illustrated booklet with pictures of the Guide and sundry alien phenomena, together with a `Don't Panic' badge, Joo Janta sunglasses, fluff, a microscopic space fleet, demolition orders (real eager-beavers should take a very careful look at the signatures on them), and no tea.
The computer game, which Adams describes as "bearing as
much relationship to the books as Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead does to Hamlet", opens much as the other versions of Hitchhiker's. You are Arthur Dent, waking with a hangover on the morning that your house is demolished, but you rapidly find yourself in a fiendish and phantasmagoric nightmare, in which the object seems to be as much to find out what the purpose of the game is as it is to play it.
As Adams explains, "It gets the player going and lulled into a false sense of security. And then all hell breaks loose and it goes through the most extraordinary number of directions. The game just glances at events which were a major part of the books, while things I used as one line throwaways are those that I used for the game's set pieces. The reason was to keep me interested in doing it, and I wanted to make it fair for the people who haven't read the books. So readers and non-readers were, as much as possible, on an equal footing... the game is equally difficult for both."
The response to the game was extraordinary. Described by
the LondonTimes as "without doubt the best adventure ever seen on computer", it became the bestselling adventure game in
America on its release, selling over a quarter of a million copies.
A major part of the game's success must have been due to the fact that a real-life author was, for the first time, actively involving himself in, indeed writing, a computer game based on his work; and also to Adams's own love of messing around with computers, and devising problems, doing crosswords and the like - not to mention his need to keep himself interested and amused by that game, which communicates itself to participants.
The game contains much that is new (and doubtless
apocryphal); obscure, brain-baffling problems; and much new
Adams text, including another opportunity to examine and
rewrite the events of the first half of the first book. Doors, Babel fish, peanuts and tea (or lack therefore) take on a whole new lease of life.
Some sample passages include:
Of a pub cheese sandwich...
"The barman gives you a cheese sandwich. The bread is like the stuff that stereos come packed in, the cheese would be great for rubbing out spelling mistakes, and margarine and pickle have combined to produce something that shouldn't be, but is,
turquoise. Since it is clearly unfit for human consumption you are grateful to be charged only a pound for it."
Of one of the many deaths of Arthur Dent. . .
"Your serious allergic reaction to protein loss from matter transference beams becomes a cause cl[e`]bre among various
holistic pressure groups in the Galaxy and leads to a total ban on dematerialisation. Within fifty years, space travel is replaced by a keen interest in old furniture restoration and market
gardening. In this new, quieter Galaxy, the art of telepathy flourishes as never before, creating a new universal harmony which brings all life together, converts all matter into thought and brings about the rebirth of the entire Universe on a higher and better plane of existence. However, none of this affects you, because you are dead."
Later in the game, when one obtains a copy of the Guide, it can be consulted on a number of subjects. Fluff, for example...
"Fluff is interesting stuff: a deadly poison on Bodega Minor, the diet staple of Frazelon V, the unit of currency on the moons of the Blurfoid System, and the major crop of the laundry supplies planet, Blastus 111. One ancient legend claims that four pieces of fluff lie scattered around the Galaxy: each forming one
quarter of the seedling of a tree with amazing properties, the sole survivor of the tropical planet Fuzzbol (Footnote 8). The ultimate source of fluff is still a mystery, with the scientific community divided between the Big Lint Bang theory and the
White Lint Hole theory." (Footnote 8, should you care to
check, informs you that "it's not much of a legend really.)"
The game is bizarre and improbable. It has the text of a short novel in its memory, and means that a good part of Douglas Adams's mail now consists of heartfelt cries from people trapped on the bridge of the Heart of Gold or unable to obtain a Babel fish.
A second game was planned at the same time as the first, this to take place on the planet of Magrathea.
Whether or not the game is a valid part of the Hitchhiker's canon (for which the only requisite for joining would seem to be that it is completely different from any other versions) could be debated. But comparison is not really needed. As Douglas Adams explained, when interviewed about Interactive Literature, "You can't compare IL with literature. If you do, you can very easily make a fool of yourself. When Leo Fender first invented an
electric guitar one could have said: `But to what extent is this real music?' To which the answer is: `All right, we're not going to play Beethoven on it, but at least let's see what we can do.' What matters is whether it's interesting and exciting.
"The thing I like about this is that I can sit down and know that I am the first person to be working in this specific field. When you are writing a novel, you are aware that you are manipulating your readers. Here you know you are going to have to make them think how you want them to reason. I don't regard it as being an abdication of creative art. Yes, at first I was horrified: in fact, there is a sense in which now the author is even more in control,
because the `reader' has more problems to solve. All the devices of the novel are still at your disposal, because a novel is simply a string of words, and words can mean whatever you want them to.
It just offers the opportunity to have a lot of fun."
Adams enjoyed putting together and writing the computer
game more than any other aspect of Hitchhiker's. Following the computer game, Adams's interest in computers, computer games and programming has remained high, although at one point he
found that he was spending so much time playing with his Apple Macintosh that he switched back to a manual typewriter, in order to get some work done and as a form of penance. Computer---
related projects for the future include Bureaucracy (The object of Bureaucracy being to persuade your bank to acknowledge a change-of-address card.) planned for a mid-1985 release (but delayed until 1987). Projects that were slated to happen but probably won't include Reagan, God,
Hitchhiker's II and The Muppet Institute of Technology.
The Muppet Institute of Technology was to have been a one---
hour special for television, using the Muppets to promote the idea of computer literacy. The late Jim Henson, the Muppets' creator, flew Adams and twenty other people to New York for
discussions, and while Douglas was enthused about the project, and found Henson Associates "extraordinarily nice people to
work with", the project did not happen.
The idea for the Reagan program occurred to Douglas after
watching one of the Reagan-Mondale debates in 1984: "It occurred to me that people who have to brief Reagan for a debate such as that have to provide him with the minimum number of facts and the maximum number of ways of getting to those facts, and the most all-embracing fallback positions - lines to come up with when he doesn't really know the answer to the question and maybe doesn't even understand the question, but has recognised some key phrase, and can come up with a phrase or line that will cover it.
"And I thought, `This is exactly the way you program a
computer to appear to be taking part in a conversation.' So, with a friend in New York, I was going to do a program to emulate Reagan, so you could sit down and talk to a computer and it
would respond as Reagan would. And then we could do a
Thatcher one, and after a while you could do all the world
leaders, and get all the various modules to talk to each other.
"After that we were going to do a program called God, and
program all God's attributes into it, and you'd have all the different denominations of God on it... you know, a Methodist God, a Jewish God, and so on. . . I wanted to be the first person to have computer software burned in the Bible Belt, which I felt was a rite of passage that any young medium had to pass through.
"However, with the recession in the American computer
industry, all that came to nothing, largely because the people who wanted to do it with me discovered they didn't have cars or
money or jobs."
THE GAME ITSELF:-
It is difficult to say too much about the computer game without giving information away that could spoil it for somebody playing it. Essentially, it is based on the events in the first two-thirds of the book The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. One starts out as Arthur Dent, in bed one morning in Tiverton in Devon, with an awful hangover. Initial problems include how to pick something up without it slipping through your fingers and how not to be killed when a large yellow bulldozer knocks down your house.
Things remain fairly faithful to the book until you reach the Heart of Gold, at which point Ford, Zaphod and Trillian go off to have a sauna and you are left to your own devices in a ship full of uncooperative GPP machines. After that things get very
bizarre indeed: events are experienced from a multitude of
viewpoints; problems to be solved occur in places as disparate as Damogran, a party in Islington, and the interior of a whale.
To get you through the game are your copy of The
Hitchhiker's Guide, your Sub-Etha Sensomatic Thumb, and your towel - not to mention your native wit, luck, and a sense of humour. And a thing your aunt gave you that you don't know
what it is.
The game is addictive: fiendishly hard, yet impossible to
leave alone until every last problem is solved, which can only be done by paying attention to every piece of information that
comes your way, and often by thinking extremely laterally. The game can be played by novices, who might in some ways have
less difficulty than experienced computer gamers, who would not necessarily find it easy to tune in to the game's peculiar mind-set.
It is easy to see why Douglas Adams found this the most
enjoyable part of Hitchhiker's; almost all aspects of it, from the adventure, to the Guide entries, to the footnotes, even to the Invisiclues Hints book, display a relaxed attitude missing from the books and radio series. Adams has a tendency to have ideas that don't always fit into the framework of what he is doing at the time. The enjoyable thing about the computer game is that the most bizarre ideas can be incorporated into it with ease. Also Adams's love of problem-solving (crosswords and such) is given full rein.
The weakest part of the game is the opening section of the
packaging and manual: an eight-page advertisement for the Guide ("Yes! The Universe Can Be Yours For Less Than 30 Altairian
Dollars Per Day!") which comes across as sophomoric - more
like Mad magazine than Douglas Adams.
The game, however, is a major achievement, one that even
the least computer literate Hitchhiker's fan should enjoy.
Letters to Douglas Adams
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"I'M TERRIBLY GRATEFUL for the fans - apart from anything else they provide my bread and butter. I'm obviously delighted there are so many people who enjoy this stuff. But I try to keep a little bit of distance because I believe the most dangerous thing a person can do is believe their own publicity. I know, from people I look up to and admire - for instance, John Cleese: it took me a long time to be able to perceive him as an ordinary human being, and I know how very very easy it is to look at somebody who is actually a perfectly normal human being, who happens to have a particular talent, an ability or facility that puts them into the limelight, to see them as being some sort of very elevated and extraordinary person, which they're not. I think you do yourself a favour if you try not to expose yourself too much to people who are going to tell you you are God's gift to the human race, which you're not. The media present you as being some kind of superhuman, and you aren't, so you just have to keep all that at arm's length.
"It's rather curious when I discover that a phrase of mine has entered the language. I mean, one never seriously thinks that what one gets up to at home has much effect on anything else, and though you see the bestseller lists, and get letters and royalty statements it doesn't impinge on me that it has that kind of effect on other people. I don't want to believe that it does.
"People like me don't make the gossip pages because they
don't know our faces. I get the advantages of being famous with none of the disadvantages. It's startling when somebody does recognise me -I feel slightly vulnerable when it occurs. I can understand why writers take a pseudonym. It's strange having an existence in other people's minds which has little to do with you.
It's not the same me they wrote about on my school reports."
- Douglas Adams on fame,1985.
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Browsing through Douglas Adams's letters file is a truly mind-expanding experience. All human life, and a fair amount of putative alien life, is there. Certain themes, however, tend to recur. Most people want to know where he gets his ideas. (One American would-be author wanted to know if she could have any leftover ideas he didn't need.) Others ask questions, want advice, propose marriage or sex, and occasionally offer solutions to matters raised in the books.
Three students from Huddersfield University, for example,
claim to have discovered the Ultimate Question of Life, the
Universe, and Everything...
The answer to `The Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything is not in fact 42, but is stored in the reproductive cells of all life forms and this answer is found via 42. To explain better all, or most, cells reprodure by splitting in two to form two cells.
Thus, one cell becomes two, two becomes four... and so on.
It follows that The Answer must, therefore be some power of two.
Deep Thought came up with the number 42, and this is indeed the power to which 2 must be raised to find this answer....
Thus, by obtaining 2^42 - 4398046511104 - reducing it to
morse code, turning the morse code into letters, rearranging the letters into passable words, and interpreting the Answer thus obtained they were able to work out what the question was. I would not dare to give the game away by revealing it, but will simply say that any Kabbalistic scholar would have been proud of their work. You may reproduce it if you wish.
These are some of the most common questions he gets asked...
Q What was the Dire Straits songfrom `So Long, and Thanks
for All the Fish'?
A The Dire Straits song is `Tunnel of Love' and it's on the Making Movies album.
Q Did you steal the biscuits story from Jeffrey Archer?
A The origin of the story about the biscuits was that it
actually happened to me at Cambridge Station, England, in
1976; since when I've told the story so often on radio and TV
that people have begun to pinch it. This is why I wanted to put it down in black and white myself. I didn't know Jeffrey Archer had used a similar story in A Quiver Full of Arrows
(1982) having never read the book. I would point out that the date,1982, comes somewhat after the date 1976.
Q What was the Question of `Life, the Universe, and
Everything '?
A The actual question for which Arthur Dent has been
seeking has now been revealed to me. It is this:
As soon as I've managed to decipher it - and I'm waiting for someone to send me a primer for the language in which it is written, and it may be some time - I will let you know.
To a thirteen-year-old young novelist, who was having great difficulty thinking up names for characters:
A If you are having trouble in thinking up character names
you are probably using the wrong kind of coffee. Have you
tried an Italian blend?
Q How do you mix a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster?
A I'm afraid it is impossible to mix a Pan Galactic Gargle
Blaster in Earth's atmospheric conditions, but as an
alternative I suggest you buy up the contents of your local liquor store, pour them into a large bucket and re-distil them three times. I'm sure your friends would appreciate this.
Q What is the point of `Dr Who'?
A The whole point of Dr Who is that, if you take the second letter of each of the 59th words of all the episodes over the last twenty years of broadcast and run them together
backwards, the original location of the lost city of Atlantis is revealed. I hope this answers your question.
To a student who wished to do a thesis on scientific and
philosophical themes in Hitchhiker's:
A Most of the ideas in Hitchhiker's come from the logic of
jokes, and any relation they bear to anything in the real
world is usually completely coincidental.
To someone enquiring where Arthur got the copy of The
Hitchhiker s Guide to the Galaxy in So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish, and in which pub in Taunton Fenchurch and
Arthur met:
A Although copies of the actual guide have never been
published on Earth, copies of it are freely (or rather,
expensively) available throughout the Galaxy. Arthur
acquired another one for himself on his journey back to
Earth - in other words, between the end of Life, the
Universe, and Everything and So Long, and Thanks for All
the Fish. Although I set the pub scene in Taunton, the pub I had in mind was in fact one in Gillingham in Dorset, the
name of which (wisely) I forget.
Q Will you ever novelise the `Dr Who' episodes you wrote?
A As far as The Pirate Planet or City of Death are concerned, although I wouldn't mind adapting them into books at some
time in the future, there are far too many other things that I want to do in the meantime. Certainly I don't want anyone
else doing them though! As for Shada - no, I don't
particularly want to see that done. I think that it's not such a great story, and has only gained the notoriety it has got
because no one's seen it. If it had been finished and
broadcast, it would have never have aroused so much
interest.
Often he receives numbered questions, which often get numbered answers:
Q:
1) Why did you decide to start writing?
2) What aspects of science fiction are you `ripping off'?
3) What experiences do you feel affected your attitudes and values ?
4) Can your feelings be linked with those of any of the
characters in your boorFs?
S) What is your background?
6) Why do you write science fiction rather than normal
fiction ?
7) Do you enjoy writing?
e) What do you think is your `style' of writing?
A:
1) Because I couldn't think of anything else to do.
2) Are you sure you mean the same by `ripping off' as I do?
3) All of them.
4) Some of them.
5) Varied.
6) I'm not sure.
7) No.
8) Both.
Q:
1) How long did it take you to write `Life, the Universe, and Everything'?
2) Are any of the characters designed from your own
personality?
3) Have you ever considered doing a comic book ?
4) Who is your favourite character in the trilogy?
5) Where did you get the inspiration to do your books?
A:
1) Several months.
2) No.
3) No.
4) Don't have one.
5) From a mail order company in Iowa.
Q:
1) Why did you start to write?
2) Why do you write science fiction ?
3) Where do you get your ideas from?
A:
1) Because I was broke.
2) I didn't mean to. I just exaggerate a lot.
3) A small mail order firm in Cleveland.
Q:
1) How do you come up with those names?
2) What gave you the idea to write the books?
3) Why this subject?
4) When did you decide to become an author and why?
5) Did you like the results of the books?
6) Why did you put Ford and Arthur on Ancient Earth?
7) How long did it take to write the books?
A:
1) Yes.
2) 37.5.
3) No.
4) Somerset.
5) Last Thursday morning.
6) French.
7) No.
And finally, a letter that Douglas scrawled answers in on, but which was never posted, since the correspondent had omitted his name and address...
1) Do you parallel yourself on any of the main characters?
How?
No.
2) How did working with the Monty Python Troupe affect
your work?
I didn't. I knew them but did not work with them.
3) How often have you been railroaded or forced into doing
something you just didn 't want to do (as Arthur Dent in `Life, the Universe, and Everything')?
37 times.
4) Do you believe in fate, and do you try to put this idea
across in your work?
No.
5) Could you include a short autobiography, including
anything tbat you consider contributing to your work ?
Born 1952. Haven't died yet.
6) What is your favourite planet?
Earth. It's the only one I know.
7) Did you do much research before doing the writing?
None.
8) Have you studied history in depth ?
Semi-depth.
9) What is your main message in `Life, the Universe, and
Everything'?
No message. If I'd wanted to write a message I'd have written a message. I wrote a book.
10) Have you ever had experiences similar to that your
characters have?
No.
11 ) Have you ever been hounded by the Galactic police for
the whereabouts of one Zaphod Beeblebrox?
No. They are fictional characters.
SEX AND THE SINGLE HITCHHIKER
... Since I have such an in-depth knowledge of your work I
feel I am worthy of meeting you and chatting to you about our dear friends Trill, Zaphod, and not forgetting miserable Marvin.
Please write and let me know when and where you would like to arrange a meeting...
(M.D. London)
I'm mostly to be found 33,000 feet above Iceland, but if you feel like popping up for a drink I'd be glad to say hello.
Dear Mr Adams,
Rest easy - I'm not a Beverly Hills real estate agent. If
you`re still unmarried and have no children and you're interested in girls, pick up the phone next time you're in New York City, dial (xxxxx) and ask for Marion. I would love to meet the man behind that silly grin. References furnished on request.
Dear Mr Adams,
Let me start by telling you I'm not a Surrey Estate Agent.
(God, the number ofletters you must have had starting with that.) I will get straight to the point. I'm formally offering you the opportunity of an affair with me, you have been selected out of many WORLD-FAMOUS writers of humerus [sic] prose to be
the recipient of a romantic involvement with me, the duration of which will depend on:
a) whether [sic] or not we speak the same language, and
b) How good you are at screwing.
The young lady in question said she was five feet eight, nine stone six, a brunette with multicoloured eyes, and described herself as `discreet, adventurous, agile, willing to do anything provided it doesn't do me permanent physical damage and I've a good phone manner.' Douglas did not reply.
Then there was the fan letter from an American writer,
hopefully working on a film script, who explained: It's a lot of work, but I break the monotony getting laid in the back bars by pretending to be you. Thanks.
FRUITCAKES
Dear Mr Adams,
Thank you for no longer writing about 2aphod Beeblebrox,
because I grew to feel a keen sense of identification with him from acquiring two heads, a fleet, and experiencing the Flying City in the Pyramids, your HHGG Corporation Building. At least I
deduce it was because the motto was `Don't Panic' (See Daniel 4:34 because at that very hour the planets were in conjunction).
This is followed by a lengthy ramble through the Bible, and the works of Adams, Castenada and Moorcock, which proves
that 42 is really 666, the number of the beast, and concludes...
Well, thanks for all the fish. A word from you might help
matters with my girlfriend who doesn't seem to understand I
actually lived through your books: If you don 't understand this then I'll just give up (`The Gods don't dwell amongst men' Daniel 2:11)...
Dear Mr Adams,
I had a dream this morning that Jack Lemmon came up to me
and asked directions to the Royal Albert Hall...
Dear Douglas Adams,
The Answer is not 42; it is `NAM-MYOTO-RENGE-KYO'
This is the law of life as propounded by Nichiren Derishonin in about 1255 AD...
Dear Douglas,
What age will I be when mankind is born out of mother earth?
I am now 34. Do you know Kit Williams's phone number?
Happy Christmas and many ofthem. I reckon about eight by
my digital watch.
Love Muz.
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"A number of people have said that Hitchhiker's belongs to the same genre as Pilgrim's Progress.
"That's not to compare the two, just to point out that there is a genre with a long history, which is that of the innocent abroad in a fantastical world.
"A graduate student sent me a long paper on one book that
we know for sure that John Bunyan (author of Pilgrim's Progress) actually read. It's called The Plain Man's Path to Heaven, written by an English Puritan writer called Arthur Dent. He assumed
that I was ware of this and was having some extraordinary
academic joke.
"Once you've decided to find parallels you can find them all the time: you can add up numbers, you can compare images...
you can pick up any two books and if you wished to prove they were parallel, you could do it. You could pick up the Bible and the telephone directory, and you could prove that each has a direct relationship to the other."
- Douglas Adams.
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THE LAST WORD. . .
Dear Mr Adams,
You're weird. Or at least your writing is weird. That's okay by me. I'm a little weird myself. If you are really one of those terribly dull people who just write weird please keep it a secret, I hate being disillusioned. . .
Dirk Gently and Time for Tea
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"I'M HALF INCLINED TO LOOK AT OTHER GENRES. I never set out to parody SF, but to use the trappings of SF to look at other things. I think I'd like to do a detective novel. Not as a parody, but to use those conventions to do something else. Then again, people could say, `Why don't you do something else directly?' and I don't know the answer to that, except that I'd feel very nervous about it. I always have to dogleg around something to get somewhere.
"I'd like to do a mystery story or a detective story - not
influenced by any one author - as soon as you do that you
become a parodist, and I'm not a parodist - parody is one of the easier forms of writing, and it's one that is too easy to slip into when you aren't trying hard enough. I'm not saying I've not
slipped into it, but when I did, it was usually one of my less successful moments."
- Douglas Adams, January 1984.
"I feel written out in Hitchhiker's and I don't feel I have anything more to say in that particular medium. There are other things I want to do. I've been thinking of writing in the
horror/mystery/occult area. Really the whole thing is to find a whole new set of characters and a new environment - it isn't just that it's new, but that it's an environment and a set of characters that I, now at age 33, thought up, rather than what I came up with when I was 25. There's an awful lot of things I want to do, and the major thing, the core, is going to have to be writing books."
- Douglas Adams, October 1985.
"It's called Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency."
- Douglas Adams, December 1985.
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One morning in November 1985, Douglas Adams and his agent,
Ed Victor, sat in a hotel room in which a number of phone lines had been set up, and waited for the phones to ring. By the end of the working day one lucky publisher had come away with the
rights to Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency, and its sequel, and Douglas was over two million dollars richer than he had been that morning. The first book was to be delivered in a year's time and would be published in April 1987.
And after that?
"Well, the moment you always feel like writing a book is
when you've just finished one, so now I've actually got a two-book deal, what I'd like to do is write this book, then immediately write the second book, and see if I can get them both done in a year. At the moment, the second book will be a Dirk Gently book as well - assuming the first one works."
From the original outline of Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency, it was obviously a detective novel, an occult-ghost story, a dissertation on quantum physics, and a great deal of fun. As has already been commented on, certain characters and situations from Shada and City of Death recur.
"One of my objectives with this book is, although it is going to be a comedy, it is not, as Hitchhiker's was, going to be
primarily a comedy, because with Hitchhiker's everything would have to bow and bend to the jokes, and often you would have to abandon bits of plot or turn them on their heads, or do real violence to a plot in order to get the joke to be funny.
"What I want to do with this, and am in the process of
getting, is a tightly organised plot with a lot of ideas packed in it, and then write by that plot and allow it to be funny when it wants to be, but not force it to be funny, which was the problem with Hitchhiker's. Once that's straight, then all sorts of things become naturally funny, but there's never any sense of... well, it's like when you used to have to write essays at school you would always want to put in jokes, but the moment you've got to write a sketch you can't think of anything funny to save your life.
So I'm setting this up in a different way this time.
"It will be apparent when you read it that being funny is an imponant pan of it, but it's just not the prime mover any more."
In the UK, the bidding saw the book go to Heinemann, with
Pan as the paperback house, something that Douglas saw as
solving a problem he had faced hitheno.
"The problem was that I've always gone into paperback first, and even with So Long, and Thanks... which went into
hardback first, it was still from a paperback house.
"But there's a different way that paperback houses are geared to doing things than hardbacks, because at a paperback house the schedule is so much tighter, because they are going to sell so many more copies of the book. And because everything a
paperback house does is almost always after the hardback
publication of the book, there's no need to build flexibility into the system.
"Hardback publishers on the other hand are completely
geared to the fact that writers are always late and always difficult.
In the past, every time I hit a problem (which was pretty
frequently) there was no time to stop and get it right. It began to seem absurd to me that here I was, an author of incredibly
popular books, so what I wrote was imponant not only to me but to a very large public, and I didn't have a chance to get it right, and this seemed absolutely crazy. The more successful you
become the less chance there is of getting the stuff you are writing to work properly.
"Now I want to make it clear that I'm not being rude about
Pan, who did a wonderful job in promoting and marketing and
selling an enormous number of copies, but it is just not in the nature of a paperback house to deal with the problems of actual authorship. That's not what they are geared up to do. So now that I have a hardback publisher I think this is going to malie a huge difference to the way things go from now on."
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"My lifestyle? It's very boring. I do spend a lot of money on things that I don't need, like fast cars, which is pretty silly, considering I only use them to pooter about town. I've been
through this thing with cars before, as I'd always promised myself that when I had some money I wouldn't do something silly like buying a flashy car. So, as soon as Hitchhiker's went to number one in the bestseller lists, I went out and bought a Porsche 911. I hated it. Driving it around in London was like taking a Ming vase to a football match. Going for a drive was like setting out to invade Poland. I got rid of it after going into a skid coming out of Hyde Park and crashing into a wall by the Hard Rock Caf...
there was a huge queue of people outside, all of whom cheered loudly, so I got rid of it and got a Golf GTI. When I was in LA, I had a Saab Turbo, and when I came back to the UK with an LA
state of mind I bought a BMW, which was nice, but I didn't need a car that cost $24,000. Spendthrift is part of my lifestyle.
"I spend a lot of my money in restaurants. Like Jane and I
going off last year to France. We decided to have fun (which was about the only thing we failed to do). Everywhere we went the hotels were shut, so we decided to go down to Burgundy, where at least the meals would be good.
"We arrived there late at night, and I had one of the best
omelettes I've ever tasted. Unfortunately, it had some strange mushrooms in it, and I was in bed for two days with food
poisoning. We were booked into all these wonderful restaurants and I never got to any of them. Then we drove back. As soon as my stomach was strong enough to hold anything down, we
couldn't find anything decent to eat. Then it rained all the time and we missed the ferry and had to drive to Calais, and I was seasick all the way back home. That's the jetset lifestyle for you.
Somehow it cost me a lot of money."
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Adams spent most of 1986 editing The Utterly Utterly Merry
Comic Relief Christmas Book, spending less time than he had
hoped assisting in the writing of the Bureaucracy computer game ("it involves you in a bewildering series of adventures from your own home to the depths of the African jungle, but the object of the game is simply to get your bank to acknowledge a change-of-address card..."), and planning Dirk Gently.
"Dirk Gently has nothing at all to do with Hitchhiker's. It's a kind of ghost-horror-detective-time-travel-romantic-comedy---
epic, mainly concerned with mud, music and quantum mechanics.
"The strange thing is that while I was working on
Hitchhiker's I would always find myself telling people I wasn't a science fiction writer, simply a humour writer who happened to be using some science fiction ideas to tell jokes with. But Dirk Gently is changing my mind. I think maybe I am a science fiction writer. It's very strange..."
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ON SCIENCE FICTION
Extract from an interview with Douglas Adams conducted by the author in November 1983.
"I've read the first 30 pages of a tremendous amount of
science fiction. One thing I've found is that, no matter how good the ideas are, a lot of it is terribly badly written. Years ago, I read Asimov's Foundation trilogy. The ideas are captivating, but the writing! I wouldn't employ him to write junk mail! I loved the film of 2001, saw it six times and read the book twice. And then I read a book called The Lost Worlds of 2001 in which Clarke
chronicles the disagreements between himself and Kubrick - he goes through all the ideas left by the wayside, `Look at this idea he left out, and this idea!' and at the end of the book one has an intense admiration for Kubrick. I read 2010 when it came out, and it was like all the stuff that Kubrick had been sensible enough to leave out of 2001.
What's good? Vonnegut, he's great, but he's not an SF writer.
People criticise him for saying it, but it's true. He started with one or two ideas he wanted to convey and happened to find some conventions of SF that suited his purpose.
I thought `The Sirens of Titan' was close in many ways to
`Hitchhiker's'. The Chrono-synclastic infundibulum, for example, if l've got that right.
That's right, yes. It's funny, people make this comparison, and I'm always incredibly flattered, because I don't think it's a fair comparison. It's unfair to Vonnegut, apart from anything else, because when you are talking about his best books (I'm not talking about his later books, where I can't understand how he gets the enthusiasm to get in front of the typewriter and actually write that stuff. It's like going through the motions of his own stylistic tricks), those first three were deeply serious books. My books aren't serious at that level - they are on some level - but there's a very clear disparity between them. Read a Vonnegut book next to one of mine and it's clear they're utterly different.
People are tempted to compare them for three reasons. Firstly, they are both funny in some way, and secondly, they've got
spaceships and robots in them. [No third was mentioned.] It's the labelling. A much, much stronger influence in my writing is P.G.
Wodehouse; he didn't write about robots and spaceships, though, so people don't spot it. They are looking for labels.
There are Wodehousian turns ofphrase in your writing. Like
the line about "Aunt calling to Aunt like Dinosaurs across a marsh".
Yes, I actually pinched that line somewhere in the third
book. I'm not sure where.
The mattresses?
Yes, it's at the end of the mattresses scene, in the swamp. But I have to point that out to people since no one noticed.
As regards good SF books, well A Canticle for Leibowitz
[Walter Miller Jr] is a wonderful book. There's also someone I came across because of Hitchhiker's - people kept saying, `If you write this stuff you must know the work of Robert Sheckley?'
l assumed you must have read Sheckley's `Dimension of
Nliracles '.
People kept saying that, so I finally sat down and read it, and it was quite creepy. The guy who constructed Earth... it was completely fortuitous. Those are coincidences, and after all there are only a small number of ideas. I felt what I did was more akin to Sheckley than Vonnegut.
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As with everything else Douglas has done, Dirk Gently was late.
By the time it was finished, there was no time to get it properly typeset and to get proof copies out - something that spurred Douglas to become a desktop publisher. The book was typeset on his Macintosh computer (indeed, the proof copies were printed on his laser printer) and came out on time in Spring 1987 - to mixed reviews. Some people found it more satisfying than a Hitchhiker's book. Others missed the non-stop cavalcade of jokes.
Saving the World at No Extra Charge
DIRK GENTLY IS A DETECTIVE and a rather improbable one at that.
He's smug, he's fat, he's bespectacled, he's a smartass, he sends out ludicrous bills with positively ridiculous expenses claims and, worst of all, he's probably right. He's the kind of person you only ever want to know under the direst of circumstances.
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Svald Cjelli. Popularly known as Dirk, though, again, "popular"
was hardly right. Notorious, certainly; sought after, endlessly speculated about, those too were true. But popular? Only in the sense that a serious accident on the motorway might be popular - everyone slows down to have a good look, but no one will get too close to the flames. Infamous was more like it. Svald Cjelli, infamously known as Dirk. - Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency.
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Douglas Adams knows nothing about detectives, or at least
not very much.
Indeed, so woeful is his level of knowledge that Dirk
Gently's Holistic Detective Agency was criticised for the sloppy way in which the author disentangled the problems he posed for the sleuth. (`Adams also violates cardinal rules of mystery writing by supplying readers with information insufficient to solve the crime and by introducing deux ex machina to bail out the the plot logjams', according to the Chicago Tribune.) If Dirk Gently was genuinely a detective the criticism might have been valid. But then Gently is really a con-man who has a disproportionate
interest in the "interconnectedness of all things" and the
workings of quantum mechanics. That's what really fascinates Gently, and working as a private eye simply enables him to
engage that passion and charge his clients for the privilege.
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"Of course I will explain to you again why the trip to the
Bahamas was so vitally necessary," said Dirk Gently soothingly.
"Nothing could give me greater pleasure. I believe, as you know, Mrs Sauskind, in the fundamental interconnectedness of all
things. Furthermore I have plotted and triangulated the vectors of the interconectedness of all things and traced them to a beach in the Bahamas which it is therefore necessary for me to visit from time to time in the course of my investigations. I wish it were not the case, since, sadly, I am allergic to both the sun and rum punches, but then we all have our cross to bear, don't we, Mrs Sauskind?" - Dirk Gently, Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective
Agency.
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As a whodunit, Dirk Gently doesn't really hang together, since there is only one murder and, if you were paying attention, it's fairly obvious who did it. Even if you weren't paying attention, you get told before too long. So, if Dirk Gently doesn't work as either a detective story or an archetypal whodunit, how does it engage any interest?
Well, like all Douglas Adams books, it is funny. It's an
amusing and engaging romp through the spurious borders of the detective yarn. Within these parameters, Douglas constructs a hugely improbable tale which requires the introduction of a
detective to unravel.
There's also Adams's fascination with science fiction
computers, ecology, quantum mechanics and even a touch of
fractal mathematics. The story in which Dirk Gently finds
himself is almost incidental. What's important is all the peripheral stuff which may, or may not, advance the plot.
Both reviewers and detective novel fans were annoyed by the introduction of a bit of science fiction to get out of some of tricky plot twists. This is understandable, or at least it would be understandable if Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency was, in fact, a detective novel. But it isn't. It's a Douglas Adams novel where the rules aren't quite the same.
Even so, Adams does take liberties, and using the time-travel trick is perhaps an easy way out.
But there is plenty to enjoy. For a start, there's Dirk himself, a thoroughly wretched character with few redeeming features.
And then there's the Electric Monk, perhaps Adams's finest
creation since Marvin the Paranoid Android. The Electric Monk was created to believe things, which would save their creators the trouble of believing them themselves. This is such a mind---
meldingly brilliant ploy it's a wonder no one ever thought of it before. But then no one ever thought of writing a `fully realised Ghost-Horror-Detective-Whodunit-Time Travel-Romantic---
Musical-Comedy Epic!' before either.
The Electric Monk's only flaw is that it has developed a fault and insists on believing the most ludicrous things, even if only for twenty-four hours. But when an Electric Monk believes something it will believe it up to the hilt, and nothing will shake its fundamental certainty until such time as it finds something more interesting to believe in.
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This Monk had first gone wrong when it was simply given too
much to believe in one day. It was, by mistake, cross-connected to a video recorder that was watching eleven TV channels
simultaneously, and this caused it to blow a bank of illogic circuits. The video recorder only had to watch them, of course. It didn't have to believe them all as well. This is why instruction manuals are so important.
So after a hectic week of believing that war was peace, that good was bad, that the moon was made of blue cheese, and that God needed a lot of money sent to a certain box number, the
Monk started to believe that thirty-five percent of all tables were hermaphrodites, and then broke down. - Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency.
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Dust had not even begun to think about settling on Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency when Douglas produced a follow-up, The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul.
Here Dirk continues to explore the interconnectedness of all things. This time, the things that are interconnected include a new fridge, a Coca-Cola drinks dispensing machine (an echo, perhaps, of some previous episode), a self-immolating airline checkin desk, and the Gods of Asgard, one of whom, Thor, is currently an unhappy patient of the NHS. Now, normally that might be
enough to spoil anyone's day, but what really upsets Dirk is that his client is dead - so who's going to pay the bill? Dirk is never one to let anything so trivial as saving the world interfere with the important stuff, like getting paid promptly and by someone
living.
The plot frailties of the first book were largely remedied in the sequel and Dirk Gently looks set to become at least as long-running as Hitchhiker's. As many novelists have discovered, the public loves a good detective. What's more, they're damn difficult to kill off. Just ask Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul was dedicated to Jane
Belson, a barrister and Douglas's long-term companion. The
book was published in October 1988, but it still took them
another three years to get married. This took place on November 25 1991 at Islington Town Hall in North London. The only
reason it probably hadn't happened earlier was that Douglas was well, not exactly noticeable by his presence.
Throughout the entire Dirk Gently episode Douglas was in
constant contact with a zoologist called Mark Carwardine. They were organising, or attempting to organise, a series of expeditions to track down some of the world's rarest animals. But, what with one thing and another, books coming out and needing to
undertake world tours to promote them, that sort of thing, this would be another episode that would be three years in the
making.
Douglas and Other Animals
IN 1985 MARK CARWARDINE, the zoologist, and Douglas
Adams, the extremely ignorant non-zoologist, went to
Madagascar in search of the aye-aye, a creature no one had
actually seen for years, at the behest of The Observer colour supplement and the World Wildlife Fund. Setting off for an island in pursuit of the near-extinct lemur, they caught a twenty second glimpse of the creature on the island of Neco Mangabo on the first night, photographed it and returned feeling remarkably pleased with themselves.
In fact, they were so remarkably pleased, they decided to do it all again, only this time with some different species of
endangered animal and in places other than Madagascar
But, as Mark Carwardine was to discover, getting himself,
Douglas Adams and a bunch of threatened animals together in
the same place at the same time was to prove a logistical
nightmare. And since logistics are not Douglas's strong point, this was all left to Mark.
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"It was several years before we both had the time, as we were both involved in other projects, to set off and undertake Last Change to See. But when we actually sat down to do it, it was amazing. We actually worked out that if we had three weeks to search for each endangered species and went for all the main ones in the world, it would take us 300 years. And that's just the animals. If we had decided to include threatened plants as well, it would have taken another 1000 years.
"So we decided we'd be selective. We just sat down and I
said: `Well, how about going to the Congo?' And Douglas would say: `Well, I'd rather go to the Seychelles.' And so we'd hit on a happy medium and go to Mauritius. It was a bit like that. We picked a whole variety so we'd get different kinds of animal. We had the Komodo dragon, which is a reptile; we had the Rodrigues fruitbat, which is a mammal; we went to look for the Yangtze River dolphin in China; the Kakapo, which is a bird, a kind of parrot, in New Zealand; the Juan Fernandez fur seal in Chile; the Manatee in the Amazon, in Brazil; and the northern white rhino in Zaire." - Mark Carwardine.
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Once they had decided where they were going to go, and in
search of which animals, all they had to do was arrange a time.
This was not to prove an easy task. But, by May 1988, after a year of anxious juggling and rearranging, the pair were ready to probe the darker recesses of man's inhumanity to everything else he shares the planet with.
With a self-imposed time limit of just three weeks for each trip, they set off in search of dolphins and dragons. And, on and off, they weren't to re-emerge until mid-1989.
Meanwhile, as is the way in all these things, other forces were at work. Heinemann had been persuaded to stump up a
staggeringly huge advance to enable the intrepid explorers to go off exploring intrepidly. They also thought it would make a fairly nifty TV series.
This idea was quickly dismissed after a conversation with the Chinese authorities. As Mark Carwardine explains:
"The first expedition we tried to set up was the Yangtze
River dolphin. We started making investigations, enquiring with the right people in China about permits for filming and all that kind of thing, and we got a reply back saying: `Sure, we can arrange for you to come and film, it'll take at least nine months to organise the permit and it'll cost you $200,000.' So we put a stop to that straight away and then started thinking about radio."
And so, armed with only a BBC radio sound engineer, the
pair set off for the far corners of the planet. Sometimes they were successful, sometimes not. Either way, the BBC managed to get themselves six wildlife programmes for next to nothing as the zoologist began to realise the benefits of recording for radio and the non-zoologist began to get wet.
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"We were trying to land on an island off the coast of Mauritius called Round Island which, they reckon, has more endangered
species per square metre than anywhere else in the world. It's a tiny little island, very hard to land on because of the swell and there's no good landing points. We all had our gear wrapped up, but the soundman just had a microphone sticking out and was
recording when Douglas fell out of the boat and was being
smashed against the rock. There was blood everywhere and it was all quite dramatic. We got the whole thing on tape, but if we'd had a TV crew there we'd have had to dry Douglas off, mop up all the blood and then get him to do it again, and it just wouldn't have been the same.
"Initially we were thinking about radio as a second choice
but in retrospect it worked much better than television. And they always say about radio you get better pictures. There was an occasion when we were just checking into the lodge on the island of Komodo in Indonesia. We had three chickens with us for food and a Komodo dragon came and grabbed the chickens and ran
off. And the sounds of all this, the squawking of the chicken and the three of us chasing after the dragon and the shouting of the guards and scrabbling in the dust, comes across so well on radio.
Maybe we'd have got some of it on telly if we'd have had the cameras ready by chance. But I think it's more impressive when you sit back, eyes closed, and just listen to it and build up your own picture. So I think in retrospect radio worked better than television could have." - Mark Carwardine.
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With Douglas dried off and mopped down, they returned to
civilization and the south of France, where Douglas had been exiled for a year by his accountant for tax reasons. There the explorers were to write of their adventures.
Instead, as the zoologist confesses, they became strenuously involved in:
"Lots of sitting in French cafs discussing it. We just spent hours and hours and hours talking it through, listening to the tapes - they were really useful sorting information. We kept notes about facts and figures and what happened and quotes from people and that kind of thing. But just listening to some of the sounds on the tapes brought back memories of our impressions and a feeling for places rather than the pure facts and figures. We spent hours listening to those, discussing it all, talking it through.
Then we sat down and Douglas did most of the writing, with me feeding ideas and information and checking facts while he was sitting at the word processor with me looking over his shoulder.
"That was basically how it was done. We did it in different ways, it was done in bits, basically, and then put together with a mad period of twenty-four-hour days at the end."
In fact, the south of France proved a less than productive
environment for the pair - too many distractions, too may cafs to sit in. After four months they had produced a total of one page.
But, one way or another, the book eventually got written.
Heinemann published Last Chance to See, a bizarre
combination of travelogue and conservation, in October 1990 to good reviews. The Times considered it `descriptive writing of a high order... this is an extremely intelligent book.' The Pan paperback followed thirteen months later.
Last Chance to See was also made available on CD-ROM by
The Voyager Company, providing hundreds of colour stills,
interviews and audio essays by Mark Carwardine, and extracts from the radio series to accompany the text. Lazier readers could simply listen to Douglas reading the book. Voyager have also published The Complete Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (at
least it was complete until Mostly Harmless put in an appearance) as an Expanded Book for use on a Macintosh computer. In fact Hitchhiker's continues appearing in different formats. BBC
Enterprises have released an audio tape or CD boxset, which was followed by The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul, this time just on tape.
The BBC broadcast the Last Chance to See programmes
weekly on Radio 4 between 4 October and 8 November 1989,
with repeats later the same week.
Curiously enough, four of the programmes were rebroadcast
the following year, though what happened to the Kakapo and the fruitbat tapes can only be guessed. Also lost, it seems, was a ten-minute programme called Natural Selection: In Search of the Aye-Aye, broadcast on 1 November 1985, recalling that first expedition.
But the question remains, after all this, did they do any
good? Mark Carwardine thinks so:
"When we went to New Zealand to look for the Kakapo---
which is this ground-living parrot which can't fly, but it's forgotten that it can't fly, it jumps out of trees and just lands on the ground with a thud. It's down to roughly the last forty to forty-five birds, that's all that's surviving and people had sort of half given up in New Zealand. There were a few dedicated
scientists, but the powers-that-be weren't really putting enough resources into it and the scientists were having a hard time getting what they needed to save the bird from extinction. When we
went there, for some reason, our visit got a lot of interest and there was a lot of publicity. And one thing led to another over the weeks we were there and the bird was suddenly put as top
priority and more resources were made available to help it. So that was good.
"In other parts of the world where the book's been published it's really hard to say. My general view is that if you can aim a book like Last Chance to See at people who wouldn't normally buy a wildlife book and get a radio series out to people who wouldn't normally listen to one, then you're reaching a
completely different audience, and if you can capture just one per cent of them then it's doing some good. The more people you can make aware of the problems the wildlife's facing and what's being done about it and what needs to be done, the better. From that point of view I think it probably has done some good."
The captured chicken on Komodo might have had other
ideas. As to any future Adams-Carwardine collaborations, the zoologist has this idea:
"One possibility is doing war-zone wildlife. Going to countries that have had wars, or suffered from wars, and looking at the effect it's hd on conservation and the environment and the wildlife."
Given Douglas Adams's inability to successfully negotiate a landfall on Round Island without blood being spilt, heading into a war-zone doesn't immediately strike one as being a particularly smart move. Perhaps with this in mind Douglas's next move was instead, to leave the planet altogether and seek out something mostly harmless.
Anything That Happens, Happens
IT GOES SOMETHING LIKE THIS: After The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy trilogy is completed it, well, isn't, not really. There are too many loose ends left dangling out there in hyperspace that need tying together. So Douglas Adams is locked into a room and told not to come out until he has completed the fourth and
absolutely final book in the trilogy. All those dangling plot threads have to be clipped and tied off, there has to be no going back, ever, at all, not even slightly.
But then...
Then there was Mostly Harmless. After So Long, and Thanks
for All the Fish, wherein God's last message to his creation was finally revealed and Marvin could at last relieve the pain in all the diodes down his left side by finally dying, things were supposed to have been wrapped up neatly and conclusively. But, as Adams himself writes in the preamble to Mostly Harmless:
`Anything that happens, happens.
`Anything that, in happening, causes something else to
happen, causes something else to happen.
`Anything that, in happening, causes itself to happen again, happens again.
`It doesn't necessarily do it in chronological order, though.'
Which means that what exactly's going on in Mostly
Harmless is anybody's guess.
After Douglas's travels undertaken for Last Chance to See
his outlook on the world and its mercurial workings were altered irrevocably. This is hardly surprising given the staggering vista those expeditions had opened to the author. Adams took this new perspective and naturally began writing it into his books.
And there were also those tantalisingly unanswered
questions lingering from So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish, such as:
- What was to become of Arthur Dent and his new-found
love, Fenchurch?
- What had become of Ford Prefect, Zaphod Bebblebrox
and Trillian, the other occupants of the Heart of Gold?
- What was to become of that most successful book ever to
come out of the great publishing corporations of Ursa Minor, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy?
- And, perhaps most importantly, could Marvin really be
dead?
There is a positive answer to at least one of these questions.
But, in order that some sense of mystery remain to those who have not read Mostly Harmless, it won't be revealed which
question this answer relates to until the end of this book.
1992 was bookended by Hitchhiker's activity. At the
beginning of the year the BBC finally issued the TV series on video, having previously been prevented by the uncertain
contractual situation between Douglas and the movie moguls in Hollywood, to whom he had sold the film rights. That is another saga that has yet to be resolved. To recoup these rights is costing Douglas something in the region of $200,000, with a bunch of other catch-22 clauses thrown in for good - or bad - measure.
But, once the dust has settled, there may yet be more Hitchhiker's stories reaching the TV screens.
The original series was released on video in a two-volume set, eleven years after its initial transmission. The second volume even contained `previously unseen material', a few minutes that were cut to make the programmes fit their time-slot. The BBC also managed to re-master the mono soundtrack into stereo. And on radio the BBC rebroadcast the second Hitchhiker's series.
At the end of the year came Mostly Harmless, fifth in the
`increasingly inaccurately named Hitchhiker's Guide to the
Galaxy trilogy'. While many fans may have been disturbed by So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish's lack of science fiction - it was, after all, a love story, kind of - Mostly Harmless has a whole truck-load of SF. And there's the occasional passage you just know could not have been written by Douglas prior to his ecological jaunt around the world.
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It was a sight that Arthur never quite got used to, or tired of. He and Ford had tracked their way swiftly along the side of the small river that flowed down along the bed of the valley, and when at last they reached the margin of the plains they pulled themselves up into the branches of a large tree to get a better view of one of the stranger and more wonderful visions that the Galaxy has to offer.
The great thunderous herd of thousand upon thousand of
Perfectly Normal Beasts was sweeping in magnificent array
across the Anhondo Plain. In the early pale light of the morning, as the great animals charged through the fine steam of the sweat of their bodies mingled with the muddy mist churned up by their pounding hooves, their appearance seemed a little unreal and ghostly anyway, but what was heart-stopping about them was
where they came from and where they went to, which appeared
to be, simply, nowhere. - Mostly Harmless.
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There's also some bizarre physics and temporal paradoxes that may, or may not, have come about since the Earth, or what we popularly believe to be the Earth, was destroyed by the Vogons way back when.
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The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy has, in what we
laughingly call the past, had a great deal to say on the subject of parallel universes. Very little of this is, however, at all
comprehensible to anyone below the level of Advanced God, and since it is now well-established that all known gods came into existence a good three millionths of a second after the Universe began rather than, as they usually claimed, the previous week, they already have a great deal of explaining to do as it is, and are therefore not available for comment on matters of deep physics at this time. - Mostly Harmless.
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Mostly Harmless delves into that decidedly murky pool of
parallel universes, so you're never entirely sure whether the Arthur Dent featured here is in fact the same Arthur Dent as popped up elsewhere. After all, there's an astro-physicist called Trillian in the stars and also a thrusting young TV reporter called Tricia McMillan, and they may be related, in some way or other.
And the TV reporter, who once met an extraterrestrial called Zaphod at a party in Islington but didn't go with him, is
apparently a TV reporter on Earth. At least an Earth, although which one is anybody's guess. This Earth hasn't been destroyed or if it has it is showing a remarkable reluctance to disappear altogether.
Meanwhile, aside from tackling such weighty
SF/cosmological/scientific questions as parallel universes, there's a little astrology, plus some aliens called Grebulons. The
Grebulons are currently stationed on the recently discovered tenth planet in the Solar System named, after nothing much in particular, Rupert. The Grebulons, who set out to wreak havoc or something, met with a slight accident counesy of a meteor storm on the way and have since entirely forgotten what it was that they were supposed to do when they got wherever it was they were
meant to be going. So they watch TV instead.
In the meantime, Arthur, having singularly failed to find the Earth, or at least an Earth that remotely resembles the one we still presume the Vogons to have blown up, settles on a pleasant little planet after his ship crashlands and he is the only survivor. There he becomes the Sandwich Maker and is reasonably happy.
Reasonably happy, that is, for a man who has managed to lose not only his planet but also, since then, the love of his life, Fenchurch, in an accident involving Improbability Drive,
however improbable that may seem. But Arthur manages to
remain stoical throughout since he knows he can't die until he meets the hapless Agrajag on the anarchically named Stavromula Beta, as he discovered during the unfolding plot of Life, the Universe, and Everything. And yes, if nothing else, this is a story that does manage to resolve itself.
Elsewhere, Ford is having huge problems with the new
owners of The Hitchhiker's GHide to the Galaxy, InfiniDim
Enterprises. They are not only no fun to be with at panies, but are also, horror upon horror, in the process of replacing the Guide with the Guide Mark II, which comes in a box on which is printed, in large, unfriendly letters, the word PANIC. Ford, unable to go to a party, is understandably not at all happy. And the more he learns of InfiniDim Enterprises, the less happy he is.
He engages the services of a mechanical friend called Colin and attempts to get to the bottom of the mystery - that is, why there are no panies or even drink at the Hitchhiker's offices anymore - by leaping out of the building a lot and eventually going off in search of Anhur.
While all that is happening, Anhur discovers, to his shock, that he has become a father. His daughter has the unlikely name of Random, and is generally surly and bad-tempered and has a mother called Trillian. And, if you're wondering, no they didn't, it was all down to DNA sampling and stuff like that. Anyway, Random is definitely not the sort of person you want to lend a watch to and Arthur is a little taken aback when his peaceful existence as Sandwich Maker is interrupted. by the arrival of Trillian, who dumps their daughter on him and disappears into the stratosphere once again. Arthur loses happiness and gains responsibility. He isn't happy.
All this goes on between the covers of Mostly Harmless,
which contains only mentions of Zaphod Bebblebrox and not a
single appearance.
Meanwhile, Douglas Adams's time becomes more and more
crowded and before long he may well wish to escape to a parallel universe himself. His every waking hour for the foreseeable
future is swallowed up by a world tour to promote the book in all the far flung corners of the planet. He is about to be enveloped by the media circuit in this country, and appearances on radio and TV chat shows are promised, or even threatened. Douglas
Adams, once again, is about to become a multi-media personality.
In 1993, Hitchhiker's fan Kevin Davies is releasing his The Making of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy video, which
has been approved by Douglas. And over in New York, DC
Comics are publishing the official Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy comic book adaptation. The comic will run over three
issues and is scripted by John Carnell and drawn by Steve
Leilohah. It will be published by Pan in the UK. But as to any more books, well, there definitely, categorically, absolutely and unequivocally won't be any more Hitchhiker's books. Although only Zarquon knows for sure.
Mostly Harmless is the last book Douglas will publish
through Heinemann. He is following his editor Sue Freestone to Jonathan Cape. He would have done so already were it not for Heinemann, not unnaturally, being none too willing to let one of their leading authors go without a struggle. Douglas and his agent, Ed Victor, became entangled in a wrangle which has now been resolved to everyone's satisfaction. But it managed to delay the publication of Mostly Harmless since, while it was going on, Douglas couldn't put pen to paper, or more accurately, finger to word processor.
Oh yes, and if you are still wondering, and haven't bought
Mostly Harmless yet - and shame on you if you haven't - yes
Marvin really is dead and doesn't appear in the book at all. Of such exclusions are great tragedies made.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* Dirk: Appendix 1: Hitchhiker's - the Original Synopsis: 4 TIFFs. The text itself: \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
THE HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE TO THE GALAXY.
Douglas Adams.
The show is a science fiction comedy adventure in time and space, which weaves in and out of fantasy, jokes, satire, parallel universe and time warps, in the wake of two men who are researching the New Revised Edition of the HitchHiker's Guide to the Galaxy, an electronic 'boook' designed to help the footlose wanderer find his way round the marvels of the Universe for les than thirty Altarian dollars a day.
One of the men is an extraterrestrial who has spent some years living incognito on the Earth. When he first arrrived the minimal research he had done suggested to his that the name Ford Perfect would be nicely incoonspicous. The other is an Earthma, Arthur Dent (Dirk: originally Aleric was here, but it has been crossed out. From now on, all the references to Arthur Dent was meant to Aleric at first) who was a friend of Ford's for years without feeling that he wasn't a perfectly ordinary human being.
The first episode tells of how Ford reveals the truth about himself to an incredulous Arthur, and how they both escape from a doomed Earth to begin their wanderings.
The story starts as Arthur is lying on the ground in the path of a buldoser which is about to demolish his house to make away (Dirk: sic!) for a new by-pass. Having fought the plane at every level, this is his last ditch effort. He is arguing with a man from the council who is pointing out to him in a Godfatherly way that the bulldozer driver is is (Dirk: sic!) a rather careless gentleman who isn't too fussy about what he drives over. In the middle of this confrontation Ford arrives in a rather anxious state and asks Arthur is (Dirk: sic!) he is busy at al, and if there's somewhere they can go and chat. Arthur, astonished, refuses to move. Ford is very insistenty and eventually Arthur calls the man from the council and asks him if they could declare a truce for half an hour. The councilman very charmingly agrees and says that if he likes to slip away for half an hour he'll make sure they don't try and knock his house till he gets back, word of honour. Ford and Arthur repair to a nearby pub, where Ford asks Arthur how he woud react if he told him that he wasn't from Guilford at all but from a small planet in the vicinity of Betelgeuse.
As soon as they're out of the way the councilman oorders the demolition ceremony to start. A local lady dignitary makes a very movin speech about how wonderful life will suddenly become as soon as the bypass is built, and swings a bottle of champagne against the bolldozer, which moves in for the kill.
The sound of the crashingf building reaches Arthur who is in the middle of not believing a woord that Frd is telling him, and he chardes back to his ex-house shouting about what a naughty world we live in.
At the moment the sky is suddenly torn apart by the scream of jets, an a fleet of flying saucers streak towards the Earth. As everyone fless in panic an unearthly voice rings through the air announcing that due to redevelopment of this sector of the galaxy they are building a new hyperspace bypass and the Earth will unfortunately have to be demolished. In answer to appaled cries of protest the voice says thta the plane have been on public display in the planning office in Alpha Centauri for ten years, so it's far too late to start making a fuss now. He orders the demolition to start. A low rumble slowly builds into an earshattering explosion, folowed by silence.
"A"
Arthur wakes, not knowing where he is. Ford tells him they've managed to get a lift aboard one of the ships of the Vogon Constructor Fleet. Not to worry about the Earth, he says, there are an infinite multiplicity of parallel universes in which the Earth is still alive and well. He explains how they got on the ship by producing a copy oof an electronic book called the Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Under the entry marked 'Vogoon Constructors' it gives detailed instructioons as to get best way of hitching a ride from oone of their ships - you have to play on Vogon psychology, which it describes. Ford explains thta it's his job to research a new edition of the book, which is now a lttle out of date. Would Arthur like to accompany his in the task? Arthur only wants to get back to Earth, or at least, it's (Dirk: sic!) nearest equivalent. However, he is fascinated to browse through this strange book. He is suddenly appalled when he discovers Earth's entry. Thoough the book is over a miion pafge long, the inhabitants oof the Earth only warrant a one word entry - 'Harmless'. Ford, rather embarrassed, explains that the reason he had been on Earth was to gather a bit more material. He'd had a bit of an argument with the editor oover it, but finlally he'd been allowed to expand the entry to 'Mostly HAmrless'. Theyare (Dirk: sic!) very short of space.
Arthur is stung to the quick. He agrees to go with Ford.
END OF EPISODE ONE.
THE HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE TO THE GALAXY.
Some suggestions for future development.
Each episode should be more or less self contained, but lead on quite naturally to thenext one, perhaps with a 'cliff henger'.
A narrative structure can be achievend by having short extracts read from the Guide itself, since much of its information woould naturally be presented in the form of anecdote.
Foord ands Alric frequently have to subsidise their travels by taking ofdd jobs along the way; as well as strange new worlds they can visit parallel alternatives of Earth which are more or less the same, but not quite... they find that many of the eccentric alien races they encounter epitomise some human folly such as greed, pretentiouenses etc., rather in the manner of Gulliver's Tarvels.
IN one episode they was hired by a fabolously wealthy but rather nervous man to act as 'internal body guards'. For this they are reduced to microscopic size in order to escort meals through his digestive system.
In another the encounter a race of dentists, exiled from their home planet for having pronounced that everything you can possibly eat or breathe, up to and including toothpaste, is bad for your teeth. They have been told not to return till they have evolved an entirely new way of life that is both hygienic and fun.
In another episode they finfd themselves on an 'alternative' Earth which is receiving its first visitatioon from alien beings who announce that they have come to pay court at the home of the most intelligent life form of the Galaxy. After a lot of self satisfied parading by the humans it turns out that it was the olphins the aliens actually had in mind.
The 'Guide' structure should allow for the almost unlimited development of freewheeling ideas whilst at the same time retaining a fairly simple and cherent shape and purpose.
Appendix II
The Variant Texts of Hitchhiker's:
What Happens Where and Why
The First Radio Series
1) Arthur Dent wakes up to find his house is about to be knocked down. Ford Prefect takes him to the pub. Just before the Earth is destroyed, they hitchhike their way onto one of the spaceships of the Vogon Destructor Fleet. The Vogon Captain
throws them out of the airlock, having read them some poetry.
2) They are rescued by the starship Heart of Gold, piloted by Zaphod Beeblebrox and Trillian, inhabited by Marvin the paranoid android, Eddie the ship's computer and a number of Doors.
3) Arriving in orbit around the legendary planet of Magrathea, they are fired on by an automatic defence system, resulting in the bruising of someone's upper arm and the creation and demise of a bowl of petunias and a sperm whale. Exploring Magrathea reveals Slanibanfast, a planetary designer who is very keen on fjords, and is about to design the Eanh Mark Il.
4) Anhur discovers that white mice really ran the Eanh as an experiment in behavioural psychology set up by the computer Deep Thought to find the Question to the Great Answer of Life, the Universe, and Everything (the Answer being 42). Shooty and Bang Bang, two enlightened and liberal cops, interrupt a meeting with the Mice, who want Trillian and Arthur to find the
Question for them. The cops blow up a computer bank behind
which our heroes are hiding.
5) The fearless four find themselves in the Restaurant at the End of the Universe... actually a far-future Magrathea. Marvin has been parking cars there. Abandoning Arthur's Pears
Gallumbit they steal a small black spaceship, which turns out to belong to an Admiral of the Fleet and drops them in the vanguard of a major intergalactic war.
6) In which it is revealed that Arthur Dent's only brother
was nibbled to death by an okapi. The chair in the ship they are in is actually one of the Haggunenons of Vicissitus Three, a shape-shifting race who evolve several times over lunch. Arthur and Ford escape in a hyperspace capsule, while the others are eaten by the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal (aka the Haggunenon
Admiral). Arthur and Ford, having materialised inside the hold of the Golgafrincham B - Ark, crash land on Earth two million
years before the Vogons destroy it. An experiment with Scrabble shows that the Question is, or might be, `What do you get if you multiply six by nine?'
Christmas Special Episode
7) Zaphod Beeblebrox is picked up by a freighter taking
copies of Playbeing to Ursa Minor Beta (the Haggunenon having evolved into an escape capsule). Arthur Dent and Ford Prefect get drunk on Old Earth and start seeing a spaceship. Zaphod tries to see Zarniwoop, editor of the Guide. He meets Roosta as the
building is attacked by Frogstar fighters: while Marvin saves the day, the building is kidnapped and taken to the Frogstar. . .
The Second Radio Series
8) Zaphod discovers that he is going to be fed to the Total Perspective Vortex. Zaphod, despite two hangovers, rescues Ford and Arthur, having discovered their fossilised towel. Zaphod (still on board the Frogstar-snatched building) goes to a robot disco, lands on the Frogstar, is fed to the Total Perspective Vortex, and eats some fairy cake.
9) On board the Heart of Gold, Zaphod, Ford and Arthur
find themselves under attack from the Vogon Fleet, under orders from Gag Halfrunt, Zaphod's psychiatrist. Arthur flings away a cup of Nutrimatic drink, and the computer's circuits occupy
themselves with the problem of why Arthur likes tea. A seance summons Zaphod's great-grandfather, who tells him to find the person really running the universe, and rescues them.
10) Finding themselves in a cave on the planet Brontitall,
they soon find themselves falling through the air thirteen miles above the ground. Arthur is rescued by a bird, and discovers that he has fallen from the cup in the Statue of Arthur Dent Flinging the Nutrimatic Cup. Taken to the bird colony which lives in his ear, he is told by a Wise Old Bird the significance of the statue.
Belgium is discovered to be a very rude word indeed. Ford and Zaphod land on a passing bird. Arthur discovers the planet to be the property of the Dolmansaxlil Corporation, and is attacked by limping footwarriors, then rescued by a Lintilla, a bright and sexy girl archaeologist.
11) Ford and Zaphod reach the ground relatively safely.
Arthur discovers that the Lintilla he met is one of three identical Lintillas, or rather one of 578,000,000,000 Lintillas, due to problems with a cloning machine. Hig Hurtenflurst of the
Dolmansaxlil Corporation threatens Arthur and the Lintillas with revocation, then shows them what happened to Brontitall; a Shoe Shop Intensifier Ray caused the planet's inhabitants to build shoe shops and sell shoes. Marvin, who was not rescued by a bird, falls to the ground creating a hole, but gets out and rescues Arthur and a Lintilla. Meanwhile, Zaphod and Ford find a derelict space port and a curious ship. . .
12) Poodoo shows up with a priest and three Allitnils, while Arthur and the Lintillas are under attack. The Allitnils and two Lintillas fall in love, are married, kiss and explode. Zaphod and Ford discover a spaceship full of people going nowhere, and also Zarniwoop. Arthur kills the third Allitnil (an anticlone) and sets off with Marvin and a Lintilla. Zarniwoop explains some of the plot to Zaphod (Ford is getting drunk and isn't listening). They all go and visit the Man in the Shack, who runs the universe. He reveals that Zaphod was in collusion with the consortium of
psychiatrists who ordered the Earth destroyed in order to prevent the Question from coming out. In a huff, Arthur takes the Heart of Gold, and leaves with a Lintilla and Marvin, abandoning
Zaphod, Ford and Zarniwoop on the Man in the Shack's planet....
The TV Series/Records
Essentially the plot of the first six episodes; only instead of all the Haggunenon stuff, they have escaped in a stunt ship
belonging to the rock group Disaster Area (whose lead Ajuitarist Hotblack Desiato is no longer talking to his old friend Ford Prefect, because he is dead), which is going to be fired into the sun. They escape through a wonky transporter unit, operated by Marvin, sending Zaphod and Trillian heaven knows where and
Ford and Arthur to the B - Ark. It was also established that the Mice were quite keen on slice-and-dicing Arthur's brain to
extract the Answer from it.
The Books
i) The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
In terms of plot, this resembles the first four radio episodes.
At the end, however, Marvin depresses Shooty and Bang Bang's ship to death, blowing up each of the cop's life support units, and they leave Magrathea.
ii) The Restaurant at the End ofthe Universe
This starts off with Arthur trying to get a cup of tea from the Heart of Gold, tying up all its circuits as the Vogons attack (a bit like Episode Nine of the radio series). Zaphod's great-grandfather transpons Zaphod and Marvin to Ursa Minor Beta where events
similar to Episode Seven of the radio series occur. Once more Zaphod is taken to Frogstar B, and fed into the Total Perspective Vortex. Once more he eats the cake. Then he discovers
Zarniwoop and the spaceship (as in Episode Twelve). Then they visit the Restaurant at the End of the Universe, steal Hotblack Desiato's ship (as in records/TV) and wind up in a predicament.
From there, Ford and Arthur go to prehistoric Earth, while
Trillian and Zaphod go to the Man in the Shack, this time
abandoning Zarniwoop there. (Shoes and the Shoe Event Horizon, which merited rather more than an episode of the second radio series, get a paragraph in this book.)
iii) Life, the Universe, and Everything
Ford and Arthur are rescued from two million years ago by a sofa which dumps them at Lord's Cricket Ground a few days
before the Earth was/is/will be destroyed. Trillian and Zaphod, on the Heart of Gold, sort of split up. Marvin has spent a long time in a swamp. There's a plot about the robots of Krikkit, but I'm not giving anything away. There's also a statue of Arthur Dent, but for a different reason from the radio series.
Variations between the British and American editions include a certain amount of translation (lolly becomes popsicle), the respelling of a sound effect (`wop!' becomes `whop!' throughout) and an extra 400 words are added to chapter 21, adapted from radio Episode Ten, concerning `Belgium' as term of profanity.
(The British edition just goes right ahead and uses the word `fuck', thus avoiding the problem entirely.)
iv) So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish
The Dolphins restore the Earth. Anhur Dent falls in love and discovers God's final message to His Creation.
v) Mostly Harmless
Athur Dent loses both his planet and the woman he loves,
and unexpectedly gains a daughter. And a new version of The
Guide, which behaves in an altogether more mysterious and
sinister manner, puts in an appearance.
vi) The Hitchhiker's Trilogy
American collection of the first three books (American
editions). Contains `Introduction - a Guide to the Guide'
Douglas's essay on Hitchhiker's origins, and the first few
paragraphs of `How to Leave the Planet'.
vii) The Compleat Hitchhiker
1,his was what Pan called the The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: A Trilogy in Four Parts when they were publishing it.
Seeing they never published it, or even came close, because the book went instead to Heinemann, Douglas's new hardback
publishers, this is positively the rarest Hitchhiker's book
available. If you have a copy, hold onto it, and auction it before returning to whichever parallel universe you bought it in.
viii) The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: A Trilogy in Four Parts
The same as the Hitchhiker's Trilogy, only in English
editions, and with an extra three lines of introduction and So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish added.
The Expanded Books
The Complete Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
A collection of the first four books, for use on a Macintosh computer.
Appendix III
Who's Who in the Galaxy:
Some Comments by Douglas Adams
ARTHUR DENT
Arthur wasn't based on Simon Jones. Simon is convinced I've
said this at some point, whereas what I've said was very similar which was that I wrote the part with him in mind. Which is a very different thing to say about an actor. I wrote the part for him, and I wrote the part with his voice in mind and with an idea of what he was strong on playing and so on. But there's only the slightest echo of Simon himself in it. He isn't based on Simon, but he is based on what I thought Simon's strengths as an actor were, which is a very different thing. Nor, by the same token, is it autobiographical; having said that, Arthur Dent is not so remote from myself that it's impossible to use things which have
happened to me in writing about him.
DEEP THOUGHT
The name is a very obvious joke.
FENCHURCH
She isn't based on any particular person, but on a number of different thoughts or observations of people or incidents. It was a bit of a parody of the Oscar Wilde thing in The Importance of Being Earnest - being found in a bag at the left luggage office at Victoria. When in fact it's Paddington Station, where the ticket queues are always insane and you can't understand why it
happens like that every single day, why it isn't sorted out.
Paddington was the station I had in mind, but I couldn't call her that, because there's already a bear named Paddington after the station, so I just went through the various names of the London termini, and Fenchurch seemed a nice name. I just selected the one that seemed the most fun as a name. I don't think it's even a station I've ever been to. That was where that came from, it was just an idea I'd had floating around for a character, whereas I was also looking for a character who was going to be the girl who'd been in the caf in Rickmansworth. I put the two things together.
Then the whole thing of Anhur falling in love with her was sort of going very much into adolescent memories really.
FORD PREFECT
I remember the idea I had when I created Ford, which was that he is a reaction against Dr Who, because Dr Who is always rushing about saving people and planets and generally doing good works, so to speak; and I thought the keynote of the character of Ford Prefect was that given the choice between getting involved and saving the world from some disaster on the one hand, and on the other hand going to a party, he'd go to the party every time, assuming that the world, if it were worth anything, would take care of itself. So that was the departure point for Ford. He wasn't based on any particular character but come to think of it, aspects of Ford's later behaviour became more and more based on memories of Geoffrey McGivern's more extreme behaviour in pubs.
HOTBLACK DESIATO
I had this appalling overblown rockstar character, and I couldn't come up with a name for him. Then I saw an estate agent's board up outside a house. Well, I nearly crashed my car with delight! I couldn't get the name out of my mind. Eventually I phoned them up and said, `Can I use your name? I can't come up with anything nearly as good !' They said fine. It hasn't done them any harm, except it's terribly unfair, as people keep phoning them up and saying, `Come on, it's a bit cheeky, nicking a name from
Hitchhiker's to call your estate agents by, isn't it?' And they were a bit upset, when I moved back to England, that I didn't buy my house from them.
THE MAN IN THE SHACK
I suppose he came from a discussion I had with someone about this not entirely original observation that everyone's experience of the world, on which we build this enormous edifice of what we consider the world is, of what we think the universe is, and our place in it, and how matter behaves, and everything, is actually a construct which we put on little electrical signals that we get.
When you think of what we know about the universe, and the
data we have to go on, it's a pretty huge gap. Even the information we have is not only just what we happen to have been told but the interpretation that we have put on the little electrical signals which tell us that somebody's told us this.
We really have nothing to go on at all. So that character was someone who took that observation to the ultimate extreme,
which is that he would take absolutely nothing on trust at all. He wouldn't accept anything as being proved or assumed, and
therefore responds absolutely intuitively, if you like,
thoughtlessly, to whatever happens. He makes everything up as he goes along. Because he makes no assumptions about anything he really is the best qualified person to rule, to exercise power, because he's completely disinterested. On the other hand, that level of disinterest makes him completely unable to produce any rational or useful decisions whatsoever. As I say in the passage that introduces him, who can possibly rule if no one who wants to do it can be allowed to?
MARVIN
Marvin came from Andrew Marshall. He's another comedy
writer, and he is exactly like that. When I set out to write the character, I wanted to write a robot who was Andrew Marshall, and in the first draft I actually called the robot Marshall. It only got changed on the way to the studio because Geoffrey Perkins thought that the word Marshall suggested other things. Andrew was the sort of guy you are afraid to introduce to people in pubs because you know he's going to be rude to them. His wife
recognised him first time. He's cheered up a lot recently.
But I said that on the radio once - that Marvin was
Marshall, and my mother heard it. Next time I spoke to her she said, `Marvin isn't Andrew Marshall - he's Eeyore!' I said
`What?' She said, `Marvin is just like Eeyore, go and look.' So I did, and blow me! But literature is full of depressives. Marvin is simply the latest and most metal.
The other place that a lot of Marvin comes from is from me. I get awfully gloomy, and a lot of that comes out in Marvin. But I haven't been that depressed in a year or so: I haven't had one of these terrible depressions.
Curiously enough, I never had a very clear idea of what
Marvin looked like, and I still don't have one. I don't think the TV one quite got it. I described him differently for the film script - he's not silver any more, he's the colour of a black Saab Turbo.
He isn't so square, either, he needs a kind of stooping quality: on the one hand, he's been designed to be dynamic and streamlined and beautiful. But he holds himself the wrong way, so the design has gone completely to naught because he looks pathetic. Utterly pathetic. The patheticness comes from his attitude to himself rather than any inherent design. As far as his design is concerned he looks very sleek. A hi-tech robot.
People ask me what my favourite character is, to which the
answer has usually been, after a long umm and a pause, `probably Marvin'. It's not something I strongly feel.
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Marvin was interviewed in the Sunday Times colour supplement in July 1981:
Q: Would you like to be a human being?
A: If I was a human being I'd be very depressed, but then I'm very depressed already, so it hardly matters. Sometimes I
think it might be quite pleasant to be a chair.
Q: How does it feel to have a brain the size of a planet?
A: Ghastly, but only someone with a brain the size of a
planet could hope to understand exactly how appalling it
really is.
Q: Why are you so miserable?
A: I've been in precisely the same mood ever since I was
switched on. It's just the way my circuits are connected.
Very badly.
Q: Can you repair yourself?
A: Why should I want to do that? I'd just as soon rust.
Q: Do you like reading?
A: I read everything there was to read on the day I was
switched on. It was all so dull I don't see any point in reading it again.
Q: Music?
A: Hate it.
Q: Hobbies?
A: Hating music.
Q: What do you like the least?
A: The entire multi-dimensional infinity of all creation. I don't like that at all.
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OOLON COLLUPHID
See Yooden Vranx.
ROOSTA
The guy who played Roosta wasn't very certain what kind of
person Roosta was meant to be, because I wasn't either. It
happens from time to time when you're writing serially, when you introduce a character at the end of a show and you're going to bring him back at the start of the next show and get him
working properly, that you can leave a character dangling like that. You realise that you don't need the character or it's not the right character or whatever, but in the meantime you've already got the actor there, so have to have him do something.
SLARTIBARTFAST
Slartibartfast was actually a favourite character of mine in the first book, though I think I slightly misused that character in the third book. One thing I don't think I explained in the script book was that I was also teasing the typist, Geoffrey's secretary, because the character had actually been on stage for quite a long time before you know what his name is. I was teasing the typist because she'd be typing out this long and extraordinary name which would be quite an effon to type and right at the beginning he says, `My name is not imponant, and I'm not going to tell you what it is'. I was just being mean to Geoffrey's secretary.
TRILLIAN
Her name was a son of feeble little twist actually. When she is introduced to the audience you think, `Trillian - she must be an alien'. Then later you realise it was just a nickname for her real name, Tricia Macmillan, and that she was actually from Earth. It's a feeble surprise, isn't it?
I thought it would be useful to have somebody else from
Earth so that Arthur could have somebody that he could have
some kind of normal conversation with, otherwise he is going to be totally lost, and the reader/viewer/listener/whoever will be utterly lost as well. There has to be someone who will understand when Arthur mentions something which is Earth-specific,
therefore there must be someone else who survived Earth. But in fact that wasn't really necessary, because obviously Ford fulfills that function, so I'm afraid the main problem with Trillian is that the pan wasn't really required. It was superfluous.
She makes less noise than the others do, but she comes very much to the fore at the end of the third book. She is far more acute, perceptive, aware and able than most of the rest of them put together. That was something I finally spotted about her, and I was pleased about that. Everyone always asked me, why is Trillian such a cipher of a character. It's because I never really knew anything about her. And I always find women very mysterious anyway -I never know what they want. And I always get very nervous about writing one as I think I'll do something ternbly wrong. You read other male accounts of women and you think, `He's got them
wrong!' and I feel very nervous about going into that area.
VOGONS
The name was just a sort of code name - they sound like the
typical baddies from Dr Who or Star Trek or wherever, don't they?
WONKO THE SANE
The whole notion of this character actually came from this thing about toothpicks. I came across this packet of toothpicks which had instructions for use inside. I just imagined somebody who might feel that this was the final thing which just tipped them over the edge in terms of what they thought of the world, and how they thought you could live in a world which had such a
thing in it. So from that came the idea of the universe turned inside out, if you like - he built this house to enclose the universe, which he called the asylum, and he really thought that was what the universe should be put into, an asylum, and that he would live outside the asylum and look after it. That was where it came from, really, toothpicks.
THE WORST POET IN THE UNIVERSE
He was a bloke I was at school with. He used to write appalling stuff about dead swans in stagnant pools. Dreadful garbage. (The name of this character was changed to Paula Nancy Millstone
Jennings after complaints by Paul Neil Milne Johnson, an ex---
schoolfriend of Douglas Adams.)
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CAPTAIN: Thy micturations are to me
As plurdled gabbleblotchits in a lurgid bee
Now the jurpling slayjid agrocrustles
Are slurping hagrilly up the axlegrune
And livid glupules fran and slipulate
Like jowling meated liverslime
- A variant and unused version of the poem,
from an early draft TV script.
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YOODEN VRANX
Yooden Vranx was a character who was introduced in order to
pave the way to some bit of plot which then didn't get properly pursued because something funny happened and I thought, `Well, I'll go with that instead'.
In a way, it's more interesting to keep a character on the
sidelines and never bring him out on stage. Like Oolon Colluphid who only appears as an author, and you just keep adding books...
I think some of these characters become so popular because
there's this hint of who the pFrson might be the whole time. The audience have to use their imaginations. If I were to sit down and explore them in the same depth it would probably be
disappointing. You select the characters you are interested in and deal with them fully, but it's the little characters on the fringes, that the audience can make of what they will, that really involve the audience.
ZAPHOD BEEBLEBROX
Zaphod was originally based on somebody I knew at Cambridge
called Johnny Simpson, who I think is now a bloodstock agent.
He had that nervous sort of hyperenergetic way of trying to
appear relaxed. That in a way is where it came from, he was
always trying to be so cool and relaxed, but he could never sit still. Having said that, none of my characters are really based on actual people. They start with an idea, then they take on a life of their own, or they fizzle out.
The two heads, three arms was a one-off radio gag. If I'd
known the problems it was going to cause. . . I've had lots of rationales for where the extra head and arms came from, and they all contradict each other. In one version I suggested that he had always had two heads, in the other I suggest he had it fitted. And I suggested somewhere he had the extra arm fitted to help with his skiboxing. Then there was the question of how e managed to pass himself off on Earth. Arthur says in early versions, rather inexplicably, that he only had one head and two arms and called himself Phil, but I never really explained that. In the computer game I actually dealt with that, and Zaphod is there at the party, but it's actually a fancy dress party and he claims to have a parrot on his shoulder. He has a cage for it, with a drape over it, and his second head is sitting under the drape saying `Pretty Polly!'
There's a scene in which Trillian can't understand why
Zaphod seems on the one hand quite bright and on the other
appallingly dumb. That was a bit of self-portraiture. I sometimes strike myself as being quite a clever guy, and sometimes cannot imagine how I can be so slow-witted and stupid, so dull and
brainless. I can't understand why I should be able to write
something which everybody thinks is terribly clever, and at the same time be personally so dumb. I think I'm schizophrenic.
Appendix IV
The Definitive 'How to Leave the Planet'
YOU HAVE BEEN CAREFULLY SELECTED as a totally random
member of the Human Race. This chapter is for you. Before you read it :
1) Find a stout chair.
2) Sit on it.
This chapter has been spontaneously generated by the
PASSING ACQUAINTANCES OF THE EARTH computer.
It will appear in this book when the computer judges that the Earth has passed the P.O.S.T.O.S.E.H. (P.o.s.t.o.s.e.h: Possibility of Sorting Things Out Sensibly Event Horizon) If you have this chapter you may assume that the crucial
point has now been passed, and that you are one of those chosen to be the future of the Human Race.
The following instructions are for you:
Leave the planet as quickly as possible.
Do not procrastinate.
Do not panic.
Do not take the Whole Earth Catalog.
HOW TO LEAVE THE PLANET:
1) Phone NASA (tel. 0101 713 483 0123). Explain that it's very important that you get away as quickly as possible.
2) If they do not cooperate, then try to get someone at the White House (tel. 0101202 456 1414) to bring some pressure to bear on them.
3) If you don't get any joy out of them, phone the Kremlin (tel: 0107095 295 9051) and ask them to bring a little pressure to bear on the White House on your behalf.
4) If that too fails, phone the Pope for guidance (tel. O10 396
6982).
5) If all these attempts fail, flag down a passing flying saucer and explain that it's vitally important that you get away before your phone bill arrives.
WHERE YOU SHOULD BE HEADING
Where everyone else in the Galaxy is heading. Stay in the swim, hang out in bars, keep your ear to the sub-etha. Send all
information home on postcards for the benefit of the next wave of Earth emigrants. Current information says that everyone else in the Galaxy is heading for a small planet in Galactic Sector JPG71248. It is clearly the most wonderfully trendy zillion tons of hunky rock in the known sky.
WHAT YOUR TRAVELS WILL BE LIKE
Difficult and unbelievably dangerous.
Space is notorious for-having all sorts of terribly frightening things happening in it, most of which are best dealt with by running away very fast.
You should therefore take with you:
1) A pair of strong running shoes. The most useful type are of outrageous design and mind-mangling colours; experience has
shown that if, while strolling through the ancient swampworld of Slurmgurst you come unexpectedly across an appalling alien
monster with Lasero-Zap eyes, Swivel-Shear teeth, several dozen tungsten-carbide Vast-Pain claws forged in the sun furnaces of Zangrijad, and a terrible temper, it is in your immediate best interests that the monster should be for a moment
a) startled, and
b) looking downwards.
2) A towel. Whilst the monster is temporarily confused by your footwear you should wrap the towel round its head and strike it with a blunt instrument.
3) A blunt instrument (see above).
4) A green Eezi-Mind Anti-Guilt jacket or sweat shirt, for
wearing after incidents such as the above. Guilt is now known to be an electromagnetic wave-form which is reflected and diffused by the material from which these shirts are made. Wearing them protects you from worrying about all sorts of things, including yout unpaid phone bill.
5) A pair of Joo Janta 200 Super Chromatic Peril-Sensitive
Sunglasses. These will help you to develop a relaxed attitude to danger. At the first hint of trouble they turn totally black, thus preventing you from seeing anything which might alarm you.
6) All the lyrics to any songs you like to sing whilst travelling. It is very easy to make enemies by continually singing a song you don't know all the words to, particularly on long space journeys.
7) A bottle of something. There are very few people in the Galaxy who won't be more pleased to see you if you are carrying a bottle of something.
MEDICAL KIT
In case of physical injury, press the buttons relating to A) part affected and B) nature of injury simultaneously
[ ] leg [ ] broken
[ ] arm [ ] bruised
[ ] head [ ] wrenched off
[ ] chest [ ] mauled by Algolian suntiger
[ ] other [ ] insulted
This page will instantly exude appropriate waves of
sympathy and understanding.
REASSURANCE PANEL
In case of doubt, confusion or alarm, please touch this panel.
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HI THERE !
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At times of stress it is often reassuring to make physical contact with friendly objects. This panel is your friend.
NB: On the assumption that nothing terrible is going to
happen to the world, and everything's suddenly going to be
alright really, all the advise in this chapter may be safely ignored.
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Douglas Adams originally wrote `How to Leave the Planet'
under the title of The Abandon Earth Kit, which appeared as a fourteen-sided figure - a quatuordecahedron - of a silvery blue colour, which was "issued partly in the interests of assuring some reasonably relaxed and pleasant future for the human race, partly to introduce the world to Athleisure" (the footwear company
who distributed the Kit as a marketing ploy) "and partly because it's a rather nice shape."
He then rewrote bits of it, changing the concept of the planet Athleisure to Ursa Minor Beta, for The Restaurant at tbe End of the Universe. He then rewrote the whole of it, leaving out some bits, for the liner notes of the American editions of the
Hitchhiker's albums. He then took the first section and rewrote that not very much for the American (three book) Hitchhiker's Trilogy Introduction, and not at all for the English (four book) Hitchhiker's Trilogy Introduction.
The version above is a pretty definitive compilation of all the others.
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Appendix V
Doctor Who and the Krikkitmen:
An Excerpt from the film Treatment
by Douglas Adams
CRICKET AT LORD'S - the last day of the final Test. England
need just a few more runs to beat Australia.
The Tardis lands - in the Members' Enclosure; very bad
form. The members are only slightly mollified when the Doctor emerges (with Sarah Jane Smith) wearing a hastily donned tie and waving a very old membership card.
Three runs still needed. The batsman hits a six and the crowd goes wild.
In the middle of the pitch, the Ashes are presented to the
England captain. The Doctor causes a sensation by strolling over and asking if he could possibly take them as they are rather important for the future of the Galaxy. Confusion reigns, along with bewilderment, indignation, and all the other things the English are so good at.
Then, whilst the Doctor is discussing the matter quite
pleasantly with one or two red-faced blustering gentlemen,
something far more extraordinary happens:-
A small Cricket Pavilion materialises on the centre of the
pitch. Its doors open and eleven automata, all apparently wearing cricket whites, caps, pads and carrying cricket bats file out onto the pitch.
Bewilderment turns to horror as these automata, moving as a tightly drilled and emotionless team, club those in their
immediate vicinity with their bats, seize the urn containing the Ashes and file back towards their Pavilion.
Before they depart two of them use their bats as beam
projectors to fire a few warning shots of stunray into the crowd.
Another tosses what appears to be a red ball into the air, and with a devastating hook smacks it straight into a Tea Tent which
promptly explodes.
The doors of the Pavilion close behind them and it vanishes again.
After a few seconds of stunned shock the Doctor struggles
back to his feet.
"My God," he breathes, "so they've come back. . ."
"But it's preposterous. . . absurd!" people exclaim.
"It is neither," pronounces the Doctor. "It is the single most frightening thing I have seen in my entire existence. Oh, I've heard of the Krikkitmen, I used to be frightened with stories of them when I was a child. But till now I've never seen them. They were supposed to have been destroyed over two million years ago."
"But why," people demand, "were they dressed as a cricket
team? It's ridiculous!"
The Doctor brusquely explains that the English game of
cricket derives from one of those curious freaks of racial memory which can keep images alive in the mind eons after their true significance has been lost in the mists of time. Of all the races in the Galaxy only the English could possibly revive the memory of the most horrific star wars that ever sundered the Universe and
transform it into what is generally regarded as an incomprehensibly dull and pointless game. It is for that reason that the Earth has always been regarded slightly askance by the rest of the Galaxy-it has inadvertently been guilty of the most grotesquely bad taste.
The Doctor smiles again for a moment and says that he did
enjoy the match, and could he possibly take the ball as a souvenir?
The Doctor and Sarah leave in the Tardis. During the next
couple of scenes we learn some of the background history of the Krikkitmen from the Doctor's explanation to Sarah and his
arguments with the Time Lords. If it can be done partly using flashback and archive recordings from Gallifrey then so much the better.
BRIEF HISTORY OF KRIKKIT
The Planet of Krikkit lies in an isolated position on the very outskirts of the Galaxy.
Its isolation is increased by the fact that it is obscured from the rest of the Galaxy by a large opaque Dust Cloud.
For millions of years it developed a sophisticated scientific culture in all fields except that of astronomy of which it,
understandably, had virtually no knowledge.
In all their history it never once occurred to the people of Krikkit that they were not totally alone. Therefore the day that the wreckage of a spacecraft floated through the Dust Cloud and.
into their vicinity was one of such extreme shock as to totally traumatise the whole race.
It was as if a biological trigger had been tripped. From out of nowhere, the most primitive form of racial consciousness had hit them like a hammer blow. Overnight they were transformed
from intelligent, sophisticated, charming, normal people into intelligent, sophisticated, charming manic xenophobes.
Quietly, implacably, the people of Krikkit aligned themselves to their new purpose - the simple and absolute annihilation of all alien life forms.
For a thousand years they worked with almost miraculous
speed. They researched, perfected and built the technology to wage vast interstellar war.
They mastered the technique of instantaneous travel in space.
And they built the Krikkitmen.
The Krikkitmen were anthropomorphic automata. They wore
white uniforms, peaked skull helmets which housed scything laser beams, carried bat-shaped weapons which combined the functions of devastating ray guns and hand-to-hand clubs. The lower half of their legs were in ribbed rocket engines which enabled them to fly.
By an ingenious piece of systems economy they were enabled
to launch grenades with phenomenal accuracy and power simply by striking them with their bats.
These grenades, which were small, red and spherical, and
varied between minor incendiaries and nuclear devices were
detonated by impact - once their fuses had been primed by
being struck by a bat. Finally, all preparations were complete, and with no warning at all the forces of Krikkit launched a massive blitz attack on all the major centres f the Galaxy simultaneously.
The Galaxy reeled.
At this time, the Galaxy was enjoying a period of great harmony and prosperity. This was often represented by the symbol of the Wicket Gate - three long vertical rods supporting two short horizontal ones. The left upright of STEEL, represented strength and power: the right upright, of PERSPEX, represented science and reason; the centre upright, WOOD, represented nature and spirituality. Between them they supported the GOLD bail of
prosperity and the SILVER bail of peace.
The star wars between Krikkit and the combined forces of
the rest of the Galaxy lasted for a thousand years and wreaked havoc throughout the known Universe.
After a thousand years of warfare, the Galactic forces, after some heavy initial defeats, eventually defeat the people of Krikkit.
Then they have to face. . .
THE GREAT DILEMMA
The unswerving militant xenophobia of the Krikkitas rules out any possibility of reaching any modus vivendi, any peaceful co-existence. They continue to believe their sacred purpose is the obliteration of all other life forms.
However, they are quite clearly not inherently evil but
simply the victims of a freakish accident of history. It is therefore impossible to consider simply destroying them all. What can be done?
THE SOLUTION
The planet of Krikkit is to be encased for perpetuity in an
envelope of Slow Time, inside which life will continue almost infinitely slowly. All light is deflected round the envelope so that it remains entirely invisible and impenetrable to the rest of the Universe. Escape from the envelope is impossible until it is unlocked from the outside.
The action of Entropy dictates that eventually the whole
Universe will run itself down, and at some point in the
unimaginably distant future first life and then matter will simply cease to exist. At that time the planet of Krikkit and its sun will emerge from the Slow Time envelope and continue a solitary
existence in the twilight of the Universe.
The Lock which holds the envelope in place is on an asteroid which slowly orbits the envelope.
The key was the symbol of the unity of the Galaxy - a
Wicket of Steel, Wood, Perspex, Gold, and Silver.
Shortly after the envelope had been locked, a group of
escaped Krikkitmen had attempted to steal the Key in the process of which it was blasted apart and fell into the Space Time Vortex.
The passage of each separate component was monitored by the
Time Lords.
The ship containing the escaped Krikkitmen had been blasted out of the sky.
All the other millions of Krikkitmen were destroyed.
The Doctor and Sarah go to Gallifrey to try and find some
answers.
The Doctor is furious with the bureaucratic incompetence of the Time Lords. The last component of the Wicket to emerge
from the Space Time vortex was the wooden centre stump which materialised in Melbourne, Australia in 1882 and was burnt the following year and presented as a trophy to the English cricket team.
Only now, a hundred years later, have the Time Lords
woken up to the fact that every part of the Wicket is now back in circulation and should be collected up and kept safely.
The Time Lords at first refuse to believe the Doctor's story that the Krikkitmen have stolen the Ashes of the wooden stump.
They say that every single Krikkitman was accounted for, and they are all safe.
"Safe!" exclaims the Doctor, "I thought they were all destroyed two million years ago!"
"Ah well, not exactly destroyed, as such..." begins one of the Time Lords, and a rather curious story emerges.
The Krikkitmen, it seems, were in fact sentient androids
rather than mere robots. The difference is crucial, particularly in war time. A robot, however complex, is basically a programmable fighting machine, even if an almost infinitely large number of response patterns give it the appearance of intelligent thought.
On the other hand, a sentient android is taught rather than programmed, it has a capacity for actual initiative and creative thought, and a corresponding slight reduction in efficiency and obedience - they are in fact artificial men and as such protected under the Galactic equivalent of the Geneva Convention. It was therefore not possible to exterminate the Krikkitmen, and they were instead placed in a specially constructed Suspended
Animation vault buried in Deep Time, an area of the Space Time Vortex under the absolutely exclusive control of the Time Lords.
And no Krikkitman has ever left it.
Suddenly, news arrives that the Perspex stump has disappeared from its hiding place. The Time Lords are forced to admit that the Doctor's story may be true and tell him the locations of the other components of the Wicket.
The Doctor and Sarah hurriedly visit the planets where the
other components are stored.
First, the Steel Stump. They are too late. It is gone.
Second, the Gold Bail. It is gone.
Third, the Silver Bail. . . it is still there! If they can retrieve it the Key is useless and the Universe is safe.
It is worshipped as a sacred relic on the planet of Bethselamin.
The Bethselamini are predictably a little upset when the Doctor and Sarah materialise in the chamber of worship and remove the Sacred Silver Bail. The Doctor cannot stay to argue the point but gives them all a little bow just as he is about to leave the chamber, thus fortuitously ducking his head at the precise moment that a Krikkit bat swings at him from the open door.
They have arrived.
A pitched battle ensues in which the Bethselamini are rather forced to conjoin on the Doctor's side.
During the Battle, the Doctor finds his way into the
Krikkitmen's Pavilion, where he has to fight for his life. Just as a death blow is apparently about to be struck, the Doctor, half dazed, falls against a lever, and the Krikkitman slumps forward, paralysed.
The Doctor has inadvertently switched them all off.
The battle is over. The Doctor is incredulous. If it is possible simply to turn them off then they can't possibly be sentient androids, they must be robots - so what were the Time Lords
talking about? Why weren't the Krikkitmen destroyed?
The Bethselamini are recovering. Sarah seems to be slightly dazed, staring into the face of a paralysed Krikkitman. She soon recovers. We gather (though the Doctor doesn't notice) that she may have been hypnotised.
The Doctor dismantles one Krikkitman to examine its
interior. He discovers that it is cunningly disguised as an android, but that in all crucial respects the circuitry is robotic, a fact that anyone making a thorough examination would quickly notice.
Unless, of course, he didn't want to look very hard. . .
The Doctor and Sarah return to the Tardis. The next step is clear. If the Krikkitmen are merely robots after all, then they must all be destroyed at once. So - off to the Deep Time Vault.
Sarah points out that they shouldn't leave the Pavilion and paralysed Krikkitmen on Bethselamin, but take them back to
Gallifrey for safe keeping and/or destruction.
The Doctor complains that he can't do both things at once.
Sarah's bright idea: if the Doctor will preset all the controls in the Pavilion and guarantee that all the Krikkitmen are now absolutely harmless, then she will take them back to Gallifrey and wait for him there.
Nothing basically wrong with that, says the Doctor, and
agrees. What he doesn't see is that while his back is turned for a few moments Sarah quickly and quietly switches a few of the
Tardis's controls, whilst a foreign intelligence flickers briefly though her eyes.
As they leave the Tardis, Sarah surreptitiously hangs her hat over a panel of lights.
The Doctor sets the controls of the Pavilion, and rather
reluctantly leaves her to it.
As soon as she is alone, Sarah completely resets the Pavilion controls, and it dematerialises.
The Doctor watches the Pavilion leave and then returns to
the Tardis. Whilst he is setting the controls, he notices that one or two of them are in the wrong position. With a momentary frown, he resets them and dematerialises the Tardis.
It is clear that the journey into Deep Time is immediately
complicated, and actually requiresthe active assistance of the Time Lords on Gallifrey.
Eventually the Tardis materialises in a large chamber full of life support sarcophagi. The chamber is clearly just one of a very large number.
He leaves the Tardis. He passes Sarah's hat, but fails to notice that underneath it a bright warning light is flashing. After he has gone a hand picks up the hat. Under it a lighted panel reads, "SCREENS BREACHED: INTRUDERS IN TARDIS".
The hand is Sarah's. Keeping carefully out of sight, she
follows the Doctor out of the Tardis.
The Doctor has passed through into the next chamber. Sarah
goes to a large control panel set in the wall of the chamber, and carefully, quietly, moves a switch.
Krikkitmen are coming out of the Tardis.
The Doctor has opened a sarcophagus and is examining the
internal workings of the Krikkitman within it.
Not far behind him another sarcophagus begins to open. . .
The Doctor is intent on his work. This Krikkitman is also
quite definitely a robot.
A voice says; "Hello Doctor". He stans and looks up. There
in front of him is Sarah Jane. Around them are several dozen functioning Krikkitmen. All the sarcophagi are opening.
A bat swings and connects with the back of the Doctor's
head. He falls.
He comes to, lying in the Tardis, surrounded by Sarah and
the Krikkitmen.
"You should be on Gallifrey," he says to her, "how did you
get here? The Pavilion isn't a Tardis machine, it can't possibly travel into Deep Time."
Then he catches sight of the flashing panel which Sarah's hat had previously obscured and the penny drops. He struggles to his feet and presses a button. A wall drops away and there behind it stands the Pavilion. Inside the Tardis.
"So that's why the switches were off. You lowered the
Tardis's defence field, and then reset the Pavilion's controls so that instead of going to Gallifrey you materialised a few seconds later inside the Tardis. In fact 1 gave you all a free ride into Deep Time," says the Doctor.
A Krikkitman announces that the entire Krikkit army has
now been revived - all five million of them, the Vault has been shifted out of Deep Time into normal space, and they must now go to release their masters on Krikkit.
He orders the Doctor to transport the Tardis to the asteroid which holds the Lock.
"And if I refuse?" asks the Doctor.
"I will kill myself," says the hypnotised Sarah Jane, holding a knife to her own throat.
The Doctor complies.
As soon as the Tardis materialises on the asteroid, Sarah
slumps over. She is of no funher use to the Krikkitmen. When she comes to, she can remember nothing since the battle in
Bethselamin.
The Krikkitmen have reconstituted the Ashes into the original stump shape, and reconstructed the Wicket Key.
They bear it before them out onto the surface of the asteroid.
The Doctor explains to Sarah that there, in front of them yet totally invisible, is the star and single planet of Krikkit. It has remained invisible and isolated for two million years, during which time it has on!y known the passage of five years. In
another direction, they can see the great Dust Cloud that
obscures the rest of the Galaxy.
A very large altar-like structure rises out of the surface of the asteroid. A Krikkitman climbs up to and pulls a lever. A perspex block rises up out of the altar. It has deep grooves carved in it, evidently designed to hold the upright Wicket. The Wicket is insened. Lights glow. Power hums. In a scene that would make Kubrick weep like a baby, the star slowly re-appears before them, with its planet tiny, but visible, in the distance.
All the Krikkitmen turn to face the awe-inspiring sight and together chant, "Krikkit! Krikkit! Krikkit!"
In that moment of distraction, the Doctor grabs Sarah and
makes a dash for the Tardis. They escape leaving that small group of Krikkitmen stranded on the asteroid. The Doctor explains that there's no point in trying to fight the robots now that they've all been released. Their only chance now is to go to the centre of it all. . . Krikkit. The Doctor is palpably scared stiff: Krikkit is about the most dangerous place that anyone other than a Krikkita could possibly go to. And they've got to go and make them
change their minds. . .
They land on the planet. . .
Picking their way carefully through the back streets of a city, they suddenly inadvertently walk into a main square and come face to face with a large number of people.
There is stunned shock on all the faces. . .
After a few seconds on both sides, a howling cry stans up in the crowd - of pure animal fear and hatred. The Doctor and
Sarah run for their lives with the crowd in hot pursuit.
They duck down a side street - and suddenly find thernselves ambushed from in front. They are knocked senseless. . .
I owe a debt of thanks to all who helped with this book
- not only those who gave interviews, who helped with
the research, who made suggestions, but also to the
people who made it easier for the book to be written by
lending computers, making coffee, or just being nice at
the right time.
Thanks especially are due to:
Alan Bell, Simon Brett, Kevin Davies, Jacqui
Graham, Paddy Kingsland, John Lloyd, Geoffrey
Perkins, and Cliff Pinnock for interviews above and
beyond the call of duty.
Hitchhiker librarian and unpaid archivist Terry
Platt, and ZZ9 Plural Z Alpha (c/o 37 Keen's Road,
Croydon, Surrey CRO 1 AH), the fan club.
Wendy Grahani, lan Pemble, John Peel, Richard
Holliss (who once started writing it), John Brosnan
(who once started editing it), Roz Kaveney, Bernie Jaye
and Nick Landau, Igor Goldkind, Peter Hogan and all at
Titan, Ken Burr and Julian Marks at Rapid Computers,
and Eugene Beer at Beer-Davies.
Two women with the same name: Mary Gaiman,
my wife, who transcribed interviews fairly cheaply and
put up with me for nothing; and my late grandmother,
Mary Gaiman.
Finally, the man without whom this book would
have been highly improbable: Douglas Adams, who
never made any jokes about how late I was with the
manuscript.
Neil.1987. Late.

