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Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy The - Episode 1

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I deliver perfection...|and don't brag about it! :D
'This is the story
'of the Hitchhiker's Guide|To The Galaxy...
'perhaps the most remarkable,
'certainly the most successful book
'ever to come out of|the great publishers of Ursa Minor.
'More popular than|The Celestial Home Care Omnibus,
'better selling than Fifty-three|More Things To Do In Zero Gravity,
'and more controversial|than Oolon Colluphid's trilogy
'of philosophical blockbusters,|Where God Went Wrong,
'Some More|Of God's Greatest Mistakes
'and Who Is|This God Person Anyway?
'And in many|of the more relaxed civilisations
'on the Outer Eastern Rim|of the Galaxy,
'the Hitchhiker's Guide|has already supplanted
'the great Encyclopaedia Galactica
'as the standard repository|of all knowledge and wisdom,
'for though it has many omissions|and contains much that is apocryphal,
'it scores over|the older, more pedestrian work
'in two important respects.
'First, it is slightly cheaper|and, secondly, it has the words:
'inscribed in large,|friendly letters on the cover.
'To tell the story of the book,
'it is best to tell the story of some|of those whose lives it affected.
'A human from the planet Earth|was one of them,
'though, as our story opens,
'he no more knows his destiny
'than a tea leaf knows the history|of the East India Company.
'His name is Arthur Dent,|he is a six-foot-tall ape descendant,
'and someone is trying to drive|a bypass through his home.'
Come off it, Mr Dent -|you can't win, you know.
You can't lie in front|of the bulldozers indefinitely.
I'm game. We'll see who rusts first!
You're going to have to accept it.|This bypass has got to be built.
Why's it got to be built?
What do you mean -|why's it got to be built?
It's a bypass!|You've got to build bypasses.
You were entitled to make suggestions|or protests at the appropriate time.
Appropriate time?!
The first I heard about it was|when a workman arrived yesterday.
I thought|he'd come to clean the windows.
He said|he'd come to demolish the house!
He didn't tell me straightaway,|of course.
He wiped a couple of windows|and charged me 5! Then he told me!
But, Mr Dent,|the plans have been available
in the planning office|for the last nine months!
Yes, of course. As soon as I heard,|I went straight round to see them.
You hadn't exactly gone out of|your way to draw attention to them!
But the plans were on display!
On display? I eventually|had to go down to the cellar!
- That's the display department!|- With a torch!
- No lights.|- No stairs!
- But you did see the notice?|- Oh, yes.
It was on display in the bottom|of a locked filing cabinet,
in a disused lavatory with a sign|on the door, "Beware of the leopard!"
Ever thought of going|into advertising?
And you don't get me|like that either!
Mr Dent...
have you any idea how much damage|this bulldozer would suffer
if I were to let it run over you?
How much?
None at all!
'By a strange coincidence,|"None at all"
'is exactly how much suspicion|the ape descendant Arthur Dent had
'that one of his closest friends|was not descended from an ape,
'but was in fact from a small planet
'somewhere in the vicinity|of Betelgeuse.
'Arthur Dent's failure|to suspect this
'reflects the care with which his|friend blended into human society,
'after a fairly shaky start,|when he first arrived 15 years ago.
'The minimal research he had done|suggested to him
'that the name Ford Prefect|would be nicely inconspicuous.
'He will enter our story|in 30 seconds and say,
"'Hello, Arthur."
'The ape descendant|will greet him in return
'but, in deference to a million years|of human evolution,
'won't attempt to pick fleas off him.
'Earthmen are not proud|of their ancestors
'and never invite them to dinner.'
Hello, Arthur.
Ford, hi. How are you?
Look, are you busy?
Busy?! Well, I've just got|this bulldozer to lie in front of,
or it'll knock my house down, but|otherwise... no, not especially. Why?
- Good. Anywhere we can talk?|- What?
- We've got to talk.|- Fine! Talk.
And drink. It's vitally important|that we talk and drink. Now!
- We'll go to the pub.|- You don't understand.
He wants to knock my house down.
- He can do it whilst you're away.|- I don't want him to!
Ford? What's the matter?
Nothing... nothing's the matter.
I've got to tell you the most|important thing you've ever heard.
- I've got to tell you NOW in the pub.|- Why?
- Because you'll need a stiff drink!|- No! No! What about my house?
- He wants to knock your house down?|- Yes.
- But you're lying in the way?|- Exactly!
I think we can come|to some arrangement.
- Excuse me!|- Hello? Yes?
Has Mr Dent come to his senses yet?
Can we, for the moment,|assume he hasn't?
Can we also assume that he's going|to be staying there all day?
So all your men are going to be|standing around, doing nothing.
Could be, could be...
If you're resigned to that, you|don't actually need him to lie there?
Not as such. Not exactly "need"...
So pretend he's there. Then we could|go to the pub. How does that sound?
Er... that sounds|perfectly reasonable... I suppose.
And if you want to pop off|for a quick one yourself later on,
we'll always cover for you in return.
Yes, thank you very much.|That's very kind.
So if you'd just like to lie down...
It's very simple.
Mr Dent will stop lying in the mud
- On condition that you take over.|- What?
You want me...|to come and lie down there?
- Yes.|- In front of the bulldozer?
- Yes.|- Instead of Mr Dent?
- Yes.|- In the mud?
In, as you say, the mud.
In return for which, you will|take Mr Dent down to the pub?
- Get up and let the man lie down.|- Thank you.
And no sneaky knocking|Mr Dent's house down while he's away.
The slightest thought|hadn't even begun to speculate
about the merest possibility|of crossing my mind.
- But can we trust him?|- To the end of the Earth.
- Yes, but how far's that?|- About 12 minutes away.
Come on.|We've got to get some alcohol.
'Here's what the Encyclopaedia|Galactica has to say about alcohol.
'It says that alcohol|is a colourless volatile liquid
'formed by the fermentation of sugars,
'and also notes|its intoxicating effect
'on certain carbon-based lifeforms.
'The Hitchhiker's Guide|To The Galaxy also mentions alcohol.
'It says the:
'... the effect of which
'is like having your brain|smashed out with a slice of lemon...
'wrapped round a large gold brick.
'The Guide also tells you
'on which planets the best Pan|Galactic Gargle Blasters are mixed,
'how much|you can expect to pay for one
'and what voluntary organisations|exist to help you rehabilitate.
'The man who invented|this mind-pummelling drink
'also invented the wisest remark|ever made, which was this:
'His name is:
'and we shall learn|more of his wisdom later.'
Six pints of bitter. And quickly,|please. The world's about to end.
Oh, yes, sir? Nice weather for it.
- Going to the match today, sir?|- No. No point.
Foregone conclusion, then?
- Arsenal no chance?|- No, the world's about to end.
Oh, yes, sir. So you said.|Lucky escape for Arsenal if it did.
- No, not really.|- There you are, sir. Six pints.
Keep the change.
What? From a fiver? Thank you, sir!
You've got ten minutes to spend it!
What the hell's going on?|I'm losing my grip on the day.
- Drink up. Three pints to go!|- Three pints? At lunchtime?
Time is an illusion,|lunchtime doubly so.
Send that in to the Reader's Digest.|There's a page for people like you!
- Drink up.|- Why three pints?
Muscle relaxant.|You're going to need it.
Did I do something wrong this morning
or has the world|always been like this,
and I was too wrapped up|in myself to notice?
I'll try to explain.
- How long have we known each other?|- Er, five years, maybe six.
Most of it made some kind|of sense at the time.
How would you react if I told you|I'm not from Guildford after all,
but from a small planet somewhere|in the vicinity of Betelgeuse?
Why-do you think it's the sort|of thing you're likely to say?
Drink up. The world is about to end.
This must be Thursday. I never could|get the hang of Thursdays.
'On this particular Thursday,
'things were moving|through the ionosphere.
'Many miles|above the surface of the planet,
'several huge yellow slab-like|somethings...
'huge as office blocks,|silent as birds,
'they hung in the air exactly|the same way that bricks don't.
'The planet was almost|totally oblivious of their presence.
'They went unnoticed at Goonhilly,
'they passed over Cape Canaveral|without a blip,
'and Woomera and Jodrell Bank|looked straight through them;
'a pity, because it was the sort|of thing they'd looked for for ages.
'Arthur Dent, too,|had other things on his mind.'
What's that?
- They haven't started yet.|- Good.
- Probably your house.|- What?
- Five minutes to go.|- Damn you and your fairy stories!
Stop, you vandals! You home wreckers!
- You half-crazed Visigoths, stop!|- Arthur! Stop! It's pointless!
Barman, quickly, can you just|give me four packets of peanuts?
I'm just serving this gentleman.
He's going to die shortly! Come on!
Just a minute, sir.
Do you mind, sir?
Pork scratchings...
- Peanuts! How much?|- What?
Have it.
Have it. Keep it!
Is the world really|going to end this afternoon?
Yes,|in just over 3 minutes and 5 seconds.
- But isn't there anything we can do?|- No, nothing.
I thought we were meant to lie down|or put a paper bag over our head.
Yes, if you like.
- Oh, will that help?|- No. Excuse me. I've got to go.
Oh, well, then...
Last orders, please!
You pin-striped barbarians! I'll sue|the council for every penny it's got!
I'll have you hung, drawn, quartered,
and whipped and boiled... until...
until you've had enough!
Arthur, don't... There's no point.|There's only a minute or so left.
And then I'll do it some more!
I'll take all the little bits|and jump on them till I get blisters,
or I think of something worse...|What the hell's that?
Arthur, quick! Over here!
What the hell is it?
It's a fleet of flying saucers -|what do you think it is?
Hold this.
- What do you mean, flying saucers?|- A Vogon constructor fleet.
- What?|- A Vogon constructor fleet.
I picked up news of their arrival|a few hours ago on my sub-etha radio.
I can't cope with this.|I'm going to have to have a lie-down.
No, stay here. Stay calm.
Take hold of this...
{y:i}People of Earth, attention, please!
People of Earth, attention, please!
This is Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz
of the Galactic|Hyperspace Planning Council.
As you are probably aware,
the plans for the outlying regions of|the Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy
require a hyperspace express route|to be built through your star system,
and, regrettably, your planet is one|of those scheduled for demolition.
{y:i}The process will take slightly less|{y:i}than two of your Earth minutes.
{y:i}Thank you very much.
- Get out of it!|- No! No! No! Go away!
All the planning charts|and demolition orders
have been on display in your local|planning department in Alpha Centauri
for 50 Earth years,
{y:i}and so you've had plenty of time|{y:i}to lodge any complaints...
{y:i}It's far too late to make a fuss now!
What do you mean|you've never been to Alpha Centauri?
Oh, for heaven's sake, mankind!|It's only four light years away!
Sorry, but if you can't be bothered|to take an interest in local affairs,
that's your own lookout!|Energise the demolition beam!
{y:i}God, I don't know! Apathetic bloody|{y:i}planet, I've no sympathy at all!
- I bought some peanuts.|- Uh...?
We've just been through|a matter-transference beam.
You've lost some salt and protein.
The beer should have helped.
- How do you feel?|- Like a military academy.
Bits of me keep passing out!
Ford, if I asked you where|the hell we were, would I regret it?
We're safe.
Ah, good.
We're in a cabin of one of the ships|of the Vogon constructor fleet.
Ah, this is obviously|some strange usage of the word "safe"
I wasn't previously aware of.|What are you doing?
Looking for the light.
- How did we get here?|- We hitched a lift.
Excuse me! Are you telling me|we just stuck our thumbs out
and some green bug-eyed monster said,
"Hop in! I can take you|as far as Basingstoke roundabout"?
Well, the thumb's a sub-etha device,
and the roundabout's at Barnard's|Star, but that's more or less right.
- And the bug-eyed monster?|- Is green!
- When can I go home?|- You can't. Ah!
Good grief! Is this really|the interior of a flying saucer?
Yes. What do you think?
It's a bit squalid, isn't it?
- What the hell is it, Ford?|- Come on! Let's get out of here!
It's going to attack us.
No, no, no, it just wants us|to turn the lights out.
Come on.
Shh! Sleeping quarters.|We woke them up.
Ford, they were...
But, Ford...
What's going on?
- Here, have a look at this.|- What is it?
The Hitchhiker's Guide|To The Galaxy, an electronic book.
- It'll tell you everything.|- I like the cover. "Don't panic"!
- First helpful thing anyone's said!|- That's why it sells so well. Shh!
"Don't panic"!
Fast wind index... V.
Vogon Constructor Fleets.|Enter that code and see what it says.
I'll keep watch.
Vogon Constructor Fleets:
What an extraordinary book!
- How did we get on board, then?|- The Dentrassi let us on board.
- You said Bogons.|- Vogons.
- Not Dentrassi?|- No.
Dentrassi are|the in-flight caterers.
Hey, Hagra biscuit! The greatest!
You'll love these guys! They cook the|hoopiest frood food in the West Galaxy!
Here, have a bite.
Go on, try it. Your mouth will love|you for the rest of your life.
It's revolting!
Oh, come on!|This stuff is the greatest.
I think those guys|must really hate the Vogons.
Now, remember this -|Dentrassi hate Vogons.
That's why they let us on board.|Let's go!
But if they let us on board,|why doesn't the Guide mention them?
Oh, it's not very accurate.
I'm researching the new edition.
Ah, storeroom.
Where are we going?
Who knows?|Off this ship, that's for sure!
We've only just arrived. Shouldn't we|say hello and thank you and things?
Listen, this is a Vogon spaceship.
We just pick up what we need|and get off it! Right?
- Stun guns.|- Any good?
Ford, who are you?
I told you -|I'm a field researcher for the Guide.
Telecom systems.
I got stuck on Earth|longer than I meant.
Went for a week,|got stuck for 15 years.
Telepsychic helmets.
How did you get here|in the first place?
Easy. I got a lift with a teaser...|Hypno rays?
Rich kids with nothing to do.
They cruise around the Galaxy
Iooking for planets that no one's|made contact with yet and buzz them.
- Buzz them?|- Yeah. They find some isolated spot,
land right by some unsuspecting soul|that no one's ever going to believe,
and strut up and down in front|of them, making beep-beep noises.
Rather childish, really.
A towel! Keep this.
- Guard it with your life.|- Huh?
Listen, it's a tough universe.
All sorts of people trying to|kill you, rip you off, everything...
If you're going to survive out there,
you've really got to know|where your towel is.
Now, fish.
Fish. Over here, I think.
- Very nice.|- Very, very useful.
- What do I do with it?|- Stick it in your ear.
It's only little!|Listen...
- What?|- The Vogon captain.
- But I can't speak Vogon.|- Put this in your ear!
{y:i}... should have a good time. |{y:i}Message repeat.
{y:i}This is your captain speaking, |{y:i}so pay attention.
First of all,|I see from our instruments
that we have a couple of hitchhiker's|on board. Hello, wherever you are!
{y:i}I just want to make it totally clear|{y:i}that you are not at all welcome.
I worked hard to get where I am today
and I didn't become captain|of a Vogon ship
simply to turn it into a taxi service|for a lot of degenerate freeloaders.
I have sent out a search party
and, as soon as they find you,|I shall turn you off the ship.
If you're very lucky, I might read|you some of my poetry first.
Secondly,|we are about to jump into hyperspace
for the journey to Barnard's Star.
We will stay in dock for 72 hours|and all planet leave is cancelled.
I've just had an unhappy love affair,
so I don't see why anybody else|should have a good time.
{y:i}- Message ends.|- Poetry?
What are you doing?
Preparing for hyperspace.|It's unpleasantly like being drunk.
- What's so wrong about being drunk?|- Ask a glass of water. Lie down.
- Grip the towel between your ankles.|- What?
Just do it!
Like this?
Now wait...
What exactly am I doing|with this fish in my ear?
It's translating for you.|Look in the book under Babel Fish.
What's happening?
We're going into hyperspace.
I'll never be cruel|to a gin and tonic again!
Hey, this towel's moved!
Yes. That's a six-light-year jump.|Good.
We must be near Barnard's Star.
- We can jump a ship there.|- Can we?
Ford, I hate to ask this,|but what am I doing here?
Simple. I rescued you from the Earth.
- What happened to the Earth?|- It's been disintegrated.
- Has it?|- Yes. Just boiled away into space.
Listen, I'm a bit upset about that...
Oh, well...
All gone? Nothing left?
What about the book?|Maybe the book's got something!
It doesn't seem to have an entry.
Yes, it does-at the bottom.
Under Eccentrica Gullumbits, the|triple-breasted whore of Eroticon 6.
Oh, yes. What does it say?
{y:i}- Harmless.|One word? Harmless?|- Well, it's the old edition.
There are 100 billion stars|in the Galaxy.
- No one knew much about Earth then!|- I hope you managed to rectify that!
- I sent a new entry to the editor.|- What does it say now?
{y:i}- Mostly harmless.|- Mostly harmless?
I think that's pretty good coverage|for a disintegrated pile of rubble!
That's meant to make me feel better?
Come on! Let's get to the teleport.
What's the hell's that?
If we're lucky, it's a Vogon|come to throw us out into space.
And if we're unlucky?
The Vogon captain might want|to read us some of his poetry first.
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