Thursday, May 28, 2009

If *I* Had Written The Massacre

"John Wiles' vision of Doctor Who, with no concessions of any kind to the audience!" was how DWM memorably described "the most adult, cynical and depressing" of classic series stories. It's amazing how impressive you can make things that are fundamentally crap, isn't it? I was more annoyed that this story, "so perfect for audio", was almost unfollowable as everyone seemed to be played by one actor, no one spoke anything approaching English, and as for Dodo's introduction... well, be fair, ALL of fandom has disowned that abomination, though I dare say someone has consoled themselves that it was an evil Faction Paradox gambit. Actually, that WOULD make sense...


adapted in Modern Australian by EC Clarke

(The TARDIS lands in a Parisian alleyway. The Doctor and Mickey emerge.)

Doctor: Ah! Pre-Revolutionary France! Course, they didn't CALL it France back then, it was just a bunch of kingdoms and provences, but FRENCH kingdoms and provences!

Mickey: We're not gonna have our heads chopped off or anything, are we?

Doctor: Well, never say never. Oh, lighten up, Mickey boy! That doesn't take off for another two hundred years, at least. Now, the sixteenth century has roughly two phases - before and after the Massacre.

Mickey: The Massacre!

Doctor: Yep. See, BEFORE the Massacre, it's a time of fear, suspicion, betrayal, anger... mind you, it was like that AFTERWARDS too. Still, as long as we're more than five years either side of it, we're laughing!

Mickey: We haven't though. It's gonna be flipping tomorrow, isn't it?

Doctor: Oh, don't be so glum! Come on, we can meet up with an old mate of mine. Well, not a mate, more a friend of a friend. Of a friend. Preslin.

Mickey: Like Elvis?

Doctor: Oh, I wish. No, he's just a little old scientist, or apocethary as they were called back then. Back now. Will be... Oh, never mind. But he was a trendsetter.

(Inside a pub, further down the road, a bunch of Catholics are getting pissed on red wine...)

De Laren: Yes! The royal wedding has been a complete success! The Catholics didn't kill the groom and the Protestants didn't knife the bride! Things can only get better from hereon in! HERE'S TO RELIGIOUS TOLERANCE!

(The bunch swig from their goblets and spit out.)

Muss: THIS IS SHIT! Haven't you got any decent, Protestant booze?

De Laren: Oh, Christ, he's off again...

(Simon Dubar runs in.)

Dubar: Now then, now then, now then. You wouldn't be dissing the Catholics AGAIN, would you?

Muss: Nonsense. Buy me a drink, and maybe I'll calm down.

Dubar: Oh no, you're not fooling me like THAT again...

Landlord: Bloody Protestants! I only serve you because I need the money!

Muss: Hah! You WHORE!

Landlord: I'd be insulted... but it's true. Oh, why do the Admiral's Groupies have to pick MY pub to practise dogma, eh? It's at times like this I wish my wife was around for me to take my frustrations out on...

Dubar: You're not exactly helping me with the tolerant mood.

Landlord: My heart bleeds.

Dubar: Oh, if you hate them so much, be proactive. Spy on them! Ply them with booze! Get all the info and sell it to the highest bidder.

Landlord: Brilliant! Why didn't I think of that?

Dubar: Because you're a moron. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have better pubs to get plastered in.

Landlord: All right then! You're BARRED!

Dubar: Whatever.

(He walks out just as the Doctor and Mickey enter.)

Mickey: So. You're gonna spend all day telling Preslin what he already knows.

Doctor: Pretty much. You into germinology, Mickey?

Mickey: Nope.

Doctor: You amaze me. Still, here... (hands him some cash) have a pub crawl. Meet you back at the TARDIS.

Mickey: Oh yeah, cause I'm BOUND not to get in trouble in medieval Paris, aren't I?

Doctor: You're BOUND to get in trouble in a whitegoods store, Mickey. What's your point? See ya!

(The Doctor prances off.)

Mickey: Mockney twat. Oi, barman. Get me something that won't cause renal failure. And lots of it.

Landlord: I don't accept this currency.

Mickey: What? (checks notes) Bloody hell, Doctor, these are flippin' Euros!

(The very drunk Muss stumbles over.)

Muss: Yay! Fight-fight-fight!

Mickey: Oh, for Christ's sake!

Muss: Oh. Are you Catholic?

Mickey: I'm lapsed agnostic. I know there's a god, I just don't trust him. What do you care, you drunk tit?

Muss: Hahahaahahaha!

Mickey: you have someone who looks after you?

De Laren: Yeah, that'd be me.

Mickey: Good. Take him away.

De Laren: He's the bodyguard of the Admiral. I'm the bodyguard of Prince Henry.

Mickey: Uhhuh.

De Laren: You know, the one who got married today to that Catholic tart. Peace in our time and all that bollocks.

Mickey: If you're his bodyguard... what are you doing in a pub?

De Laren: (worried) Bloody hell, you've got a point there!

(A pretty girl runs in.)

Annie: Somebody save me!

Muss: Yay! A stripper!

(Annie hides under a table as a bunch of Imperial Stormtroopers enter.)

Captain: Evenin' all. We're the private guard of Cardinal Whatisface. Anyone see a pretty girl freaking out and running around?

De Laren: Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaybe.

Captain: She's the cleaning woman for the Cardinal's House while he's off in Rome and now she's buggered off with the work half-done. The hygiene standards are horrible over there. If she don't come back, it's a breach of contract and no money.

De Laren: Lah de dah de dah.

Captain: This will piss off the Abbot and no mistake!

De Laren: Ah who cares?

Captain: ...good point. Night night.

De Laren: Aw. No fight?

Mickey: Dude, you are the worst bodyguard ever.

De Laren: Do I tell YOU how to do YOUR job after a day of getting wasted on cheap plonk?

(Annie rushes out of hiding and hugs Mickey.)

Annie: Oh, you saved me, you wonderful, wonderful person! I love you!

Mickey: Oh yeah. I still got it. Why'd you run away?

Annie: I heard two stormtroopers chatting while using the privvy - they said they only joined up for the ethnic cleansing and religious genocide, and there was going to be some action any day now!

Mickey: Hmmm. Methinks this may have something to do with that Massacre I heard about...

Annie: Oh, you're so clever.

Mickey: That's right, babe, Mickey the Mastermind they call me. Now, do I try and find the Doctor or get drunk and have a one-night stand with you?

Annie: I LIKE the second idea.

Mickey: Me too.

(Elsewhere, the Doctor stops by a door marked "PRESLIN'S A WANKER!" and knocks on it. A little old man enters.)

Preslin: Ere, aren't you the Abbot of Ambawarzee?

Doctor: Uh. No. Hello, Preslin! Not a bad day for it, eh?

Preslin: Piss off!

Doctor: I just wanted to say hello...

Preslin: Preslin doesn't live here any more!

Doctor: Charlie, boy, I KNOW it's you.

Preslin: Piss off anyway!

Doctor: Can't we talk about germs? I know this great guy in Germany building microscopes...

Preslin: Piss off! ...microscopes, you say?

Doctor: Yep. This guy totally agrees with everything you say, dude.

Preslin: Oh. You SURE you're not the Abbot.

Doctor: Yes I'm sure.

Preslin: Racist, intolerant bastard... Now the Cardinal's off facing Chaser stunts at the Vatican, the Abbot's in charge. He declares a jihad on us Protestants every time he breaks wind - which he does a lot!

Doctor: Yeah. Think I might have worked out which side of the Massacre we've landed.

Preslin: Massacre? Sod this, I'm getting out of town!

Doctor: Don't I get some kind of reward for saving your ass?

Preslin: Here. Try this mind-expanding vegetable extract I found.

(The Doctor snorts it while Preslin runs away.)

Doctor: Ahhh. You know, this is very familiar, slightly bitter... (eyes bulge) oooh, goodnight Theta.

(He falls down on the floor, and sinks into the carpet, ala Trainspotting.)

(At the Cardinal's House, notable for that flashing neon sign "CARDINAL SIN IN DA HOUSE!", Dubar is shouting at the stormtroopers.)

Dubar: You idiots just LET her get away? Because De Laran TOLD you to!

Captain: Maaaaaaaaybe.

Dubar: She's going to spill the beans about our evil plans, you twat!

Captain: Is she? Blimey, you should have mentioned that.

Dubar: I DID!

Captain: OK, OK, there's no need to be aggressive.


Captain: You are, man, I can sense it.


Captain: OK. Where should I look?

Dubar: Maybe at the pub you left her, YOU PINHEAD!!!!

(At that same pub, De Laren and Muss are STILL drunk.)

De Laren: Hic. You know, you know something?

Muss: W...what?

De Laren: We should, like, really keep that good Protestant girl out of trouble. Hic.

Muss: Why?

De Laren: ...I forget. Great arse though.

Muss: Oh yeah.

De Laren: Hang on. This massacre business. BOUND to be, like, something to do with... with... with... Henry. Yes. And that means a great deal to me.

Muss: Coz, like, you're his... belch... bodyguard?

De Laren: Pretty much. I mean, if they kill Henry, all the peace and prosperity caused by his wedding will, you know, like end.

Muss: He got married TODAY.

De Laren: Yeah.

Muss: And all day we've been trying to pick fights. Not REALLY peace and prosperity.

De Laren: Shut your mouth, Muss. And get me another drink.

(Dubar enters.)

Dubar: Stupid stormtroopers and their unions... Have to do everything myself. Oi. Barman...

Landlord: I am a LANDLORD dammit. Stop calling me a barman.

Dubar: I'm not in the mood to piss about! Where's that girl?

Landlord: Upstairs banging that guy with the Nintendo "Know Your Roots" T-shirt.

Dubar: Ahah!

Landlord: I think.

Dubar: What?

Landlord: They MIGHT have left altogether. I dunno, it was between scenes.

Dubar: Is everyone in this city a retard?!

Landlord: No! We're FRENCH! Besides, she's a Protestant, she probably joined the Admiral's Groupies.


(A bell begins to ring.)

Muss: Right, that's curfew. Let's get out of this shithole.

(Mickey and Annie come down the stairs, pulling their clothes on.)

Mickey: Can we hang with you?

De Laren: Sure thing, man. Bring the ho as well.

(Swearing, Dubar runs back to the Cardinal's Swinging Bachelor Pad. He heads towards a high-backed chair looking out the window. Smoke comes behind the chair.)

Dubar: Ooooooooooooh-kaaaaaaaay! Bit of an incident. The cleaning woman sort of heard all our evil plans, and now she's teamed up with the other Protestants and Admiral de Coligknee and generally things have gone a little bit pear-shaped. Um... got any thoughts on the matter?

(The chair swings round to reveal David Tennant in a monk's robe with a huge spliff.)

Abbot: Jings, do I have to think of everything? How about kidnapping her from the Admiral's pad and bringing her back here?

Dubar: Superlative scheme, sir.

Abbot: Whatever, you sychophant. (looks broodily out the window) Bloody Frenchies...


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