(BEEPING)
VOICE OF THE BOOK: 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 publishing corporations
of Ursa Minor.
More popular than the Celestial Home Care Omnibus,
better selling than 53 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,
andWho 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, or at least wildly inaccurate,
it scores over the older, more pedestrian work in two respects.
First, it is slightly cheaper
and secondly, it has the words ”Don 't Panic! ”
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.
(BULLDOZER RUMBLING)
(TH EME MUSIC PLAYING)
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 gonna have to accept It, you know.
This bypass has got to be built and it's gonna be built.
- Nothing you... - Why has it got to be built?
What do you mean, why has it got to be built?
It's a bypass. You gotta build bypasses.
You were quite entitled to make any suggestion or protest
at the appropriate time.
Appropriate time?
First I heard about it was when a workman arrived at the door yesterday.
I thought he'd come to clean the windows.
He told me he'd come to demolish the house.
Well, he didn't sell me straight away, of course.
No. First, he wiped a couple of windows and charged me a fiver!
Then he told me.
But Mr Dent,
the plans have been available in the planning office
for the last nine months.
Oh, yes. Well, of course.
As soon as I heard, I went round to see them.
You hadn't exactly gone out of your way to call much attention to them,
had you?
Like, telling anybody or anything?
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! - The lights had probably gone.
50 had the stairs!
But you did see the notice, didn't you?
Oh, yes. It was on display in the bottom of a locked filing cabinet
stuck in a disused lavatory with a sign outside the door saying,
"Beware of the leopard!"
Ever thought of going into advertising?
(ENGINE STARTS)
You won't get me like that, either.
(ENGINE TURNS OFF)
- Mr Dent... - Hello? Yes?
Have you any idea how much damage this bulldozer would suffer
if I were to let it roll straight over you?
How much?
None at all.
BOOK“. 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 himself into human society after a fairly shaky start.
When he first arrived 15 years ago,
the minimal research he had done suggested 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,
he will not attempt to pick fleas off him.
Earth men are not proud of their ancestors
and never invite them round to dinner.
Hello, Arth u r.
Ford! Hi, how are you?
Fine.
- I.ook, er... Are you busy? - Busy?
Well, I've just got this bulldozer to lie in front of
or it will 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 in the village.
Ford, you don't understand.
That man wants to knock my house down!
Well, he can do that whilst you're away, can't he?
- But I don't want him to! - Ah.
- Ford, what's the matter? - Nothing!
Nothing's the matter.
Listen to me! I've got to tell you the most important thing you've ever heard.
I've got to tell you now and I've got to tell you
- In the saloon bar of the Red Lion. - Why?
Because you're going to need a very stiff drink.
No, no. What about my house?
- He wants to knock your house down? - Yes.
And he can't because you're lying in the way of his bulldozer?
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 that he hasn't?
Well?
Can we also assume that he is going to be staying there all day?
So?
So all your men are going to be standing around here all day
doing nothing.
Could be, could be.
Well, if you're resigned to doing that anyway,
you don't actually need him to lie there all the time, do you?
Not as such, no. Not exactly "need."
Well, if you just like to take it as read that he's actually there,
then he and I can slip off down the pub for half an hour. How does that sound?
Sounds perfectly reasonable. I suppose.
And if you'd like to pop off for a quick one yourself later on,
we could always cover for you in return.
Oh, thanks. Thanks very much. That's very kind.
So if you'd just like to come here and lie down?
- What? - It's very simple.
My client Mr Dent will stop lying here in the mud on the sole condition
- that you take over from him. - What are you talking about?
- Shh. - Ow.
Sorry? 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 with you down to the pub?
Yes.
Promise?
Promise.
Get up! Let the man lie down.
Thank you.
(LAUGHING)
And no sneaky knocking Mr Dent's house down while he's away,
all right?
The slightest thought hadn't even begun to speculate
about the merest possibility of crossing my mind.
Can we trust him?
Myself, I'd trust him to the end of the Earth.
- Yes, but how far is that? - About 12 minutes away. Come on.
We've gotta get some alcohol.
But I'm hardly dressed to go to the pub.
BOOK: Here's what the Encyclopaedia Gala ctica 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 life forms.
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy also mentions alcohol.
It says that the best drink in existence
is the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster.
The effect of which is like having your brain smashed out
with a slice of lemon
wrapped around a large gold brick.
The Guide quite also tells you on which planets the best
Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters are mixed,
howmuchyoucanexpecttopay
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...
(READING)
His name is Zaphod Beeblebrox and we shall learn more of his wisdom later.
(IN DISTINCT CHATTER)
Six pints of bitter, and quickly, please. The world's about to end.
Yes, sir. Nice weather for it. Going to the match this afternoon, sir?
No, no point.
Foregone conclusion, then, eh? Arsenal without a chance?
No, it's just 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, sir? Thank you, sir!
You've 10 minutes left to spend it.
Ford, will you please tell me what the hell's going on?
I think I'm beginning to lose my grip on the day.
Drink up. You've got three pints to get through.
Three pints? At lunch time?
Time is an illusion. Lunch time doubly so.
Very deep. You should send that in to the Reader's Digest.
They've got 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've been too wrapped up in myself to notice?
(SIGHS)
I'll try to explain.
How long have we known each other, Arthur?
Five years, maybe six.
Most of it seemed to make some kind of sense at the time.
All right.
How would you react if I told you that I'm not from Guildford after all,
but from a small planet somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse?
I don't know.
Why? Do you think it's the sort of thing you're likely to say?
Drink up. The world's about to end.
This must be Thursday. I never could get the hang of Thursdays.
BOOK“. 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.
Which was a pity, because it was exactly the sort of thing
they'd been looking for all these years.
Arthur Dent, too, had other things on his mind.
- (RUMBLING) - What's that?
- Don't worry, they haven't started yet. - Good.
It's probablyjust your house being knocked down.
- (SPITS) What? - Five minutes to go.
Damn you and your fairy stories! They're smashing up my home!
Stop, you vandals, you home-wreckers, you half-crazed Visigoths!
- ARTHUR: Stop! - Arthur, come back. It's pointless!
Barman, quickly! Can you just give me four packets of peanuts?
Just a minute, sir. I'm just serving this gentleman.
What's the point? He's going to be dead in a few minutes!
- Come on. - Just a minute, sir.
BARMAN: Do you mind, sir?
- Ah! Peanuts, how much? - What?
Never mind.
Have it. Have it.
Keep it!
BARMAN: Are you serious, sir?
Do you really think the world's going to end this afternoon?
Er, yes, in just over three minutes and five seconds.
- Well, isn't there anything we can do? - No, nothing.
Aren't we supposed to lie down or put a paper bag over your head, or something?
Yes, if you like.
- 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 and quartered and whipped and boiled
until... Until you've had enough!
Arthur, don't bother. There's no point. There's only a minute or so left.
And then I'll do it some more! And then I'll take all the little bits
and I'lljump on them, and I'll carry on jumping until I get blisters
or I'll think of something even worse to do!
What the hell's that?
(LOUD DRONING)
Arthur, quick, over here!
What the hell is it?
FORD: It's a fleet of flying saucers, what do you think it is?
- Take hold of this. - What do you mean,
- a fleet of flying saucers? - A Vogon constructor fleet.
- A what? - A Vogon constructor fleet.
I picked up news of their arrival a few hours ago
on my sub-ether radio.
Ford, I don't think I can cope with much more of this!
I think I'll have a little lie-down somewhere.
Stay here! Stay calm! Now, take hold of this.
(WHIRRING)
(DRONING GROWS LOUDER)
(KLAXON SOUNDS)
VOGON CAPT MN“. (OVER LOUDSPEAKER) People of Earth, your attention, please.
This is Prostetnic Volgon Jeltz
of the Galactic Hyperspace Planning Council.
As you are probably aware, the plans for the development
of the outlying regions of the western spiral arm of the galaxy
require the building of a hyperspace express route through your star system,
and regrettably, your planet is one of those scheduled for demolition.
The process will take slightly less than two of your Earth minutes.
Thank you very much.
(KLAXON SOUNDING)
(CLAMOU RING)
- Get out of it! - No, no, no! Go away!
- Go away! - Get out of it!
All the planning charts and demolition orders
have been on display at your local planning department
on Alpha Centauri for 50 of your Earth years.
And so you've had plenty of time to lodge any formal complaints,
and it's far too late to start making a fuss about it now.
(CLAMOU RING CONTIN U ES)
What do you mean, you've never been to Alpha Centauri?
Oh, for heaven's sake, mankind.
It's only four light years away, you know.
I'm sorry, but if you can't be bothered to take an interest in local affairs,
that's your own lookout.
- Energise the demolition beam! - (BEEPING)
God, I don't know.
Apathetic bloody planet! I've no sympathy at all.
- I've brought some peanuts. - Huh?
We've just been through a matter transference beam.
You've probably lost some salt and protein.
The beer you had should have cushioned your system a bit.
- How are you feeling? - Like a military academy.
Bits of me keep passing out.
Ford, if I were to ask you where the hell we were, would I regret it?
- We're safe. - Ah, good.
We're in a cabin in one of the spaceships
of the Vogon constructor fleet.
Ah. This is obviously some strange usage of the word "safe"
that I hadn't previously been aware of.
What are you doing?
Looking for the light.
How did we get here?
Er... We hitched a lift.
Excuse me? Are you telling me that we just stuck our thumbs out
and some green, bug-eyed monster popped his head out and said,
"Hi, fellas. Hop right in.
"I can take you as far as the Basingstoke roundabout"?
Well, the thumb's an electronic sub-ether device,
the roundabout's at Barnard's Star, but otherwise,
that's more or less right.
- And the bug-eyed monster? - Is green, yes.
- Fine. 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?
Well, it's a bit squalid, isn't it?
- (GROANING) - (YELPING)
What the hell is it?
Oh, come on, let's get out of here.
Ford, it's going to attack us!
No, no, no. Hejust wants us to turn the lights out.
Come on.
Shh! Sleeping quarters. We woke them up.
- (CLANGING) - Ford, they were...
What?
- Aliens? - Dentrassi.
But, Ford...
- What's going on? - Here, have a look at this.
What is it?
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, a sort of electronic book.
It tells you everything you would want to know.
I like the cover. "Don't Panic!" It's the first helpful
or intelligible thing anyone's said to me all day!
Yes, that's why It sells so well. Shh.
What?
Don't panic. Look.
Fast-wind index. "V." Vogon Constructor Fleet.
Enter that code, see what it says, and I'll keep watch.
BOOK“. Vogon Constructor Fleets.
(READING)
What an extraordinary book. How did we get on board, then?
The Dentrassi let us on board.
I thought you said they were called Vogons.
- 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 whole of the West Galaxy.
Go on, have a bite. Go on, go on! Try it, try it.
Your mouth will love you for the rest of your life.
(SPITS) It's revolting!
Oh, come on! This stuff is the greatest.
Mmm!
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 the Dentrassi let us on board,
why doesn't the Guide mention them?
- It's not very accurate. - Oh.
I'm researching the new edition.
Ah. Storeroom.
Where are we going?
Who knows? Off this ship, that's for sure.
ARTHUR: We've onlyjust arrived.
Hadn't we better say hello and thank you, and things?
Listen, this is a Vogon spaceship. We just pick up what we need
and then we get off it, right?
Right.
Stun guns. - Any good?
No.
Ford, who are you?
I told you. I'm a field researcher for the Guide-
Telecom systems.
(HIGH-PITCHED BEEPING)
Got stuck on the Earth longer than I meant.
Went for a week, got stuck for 15 years.
Tele-psychic helmets. (GIGG LES)
How did you get here in the first place?
Easy. Got a lift with a teaser.
Hypno-rays?
- Teasers? - Yeah.
Teasers are rich kids with nothing to do.
They cruise around the galaxy looking for planets
that no-one's made interstellar contact yet with,
- and buzz them. - Buzz them?
Yeah.
They find some isolated spot, land right by some unsuspecting soul
that no-one's ever gonna believe,
and strut up and down in front of them making "beep, beep" noises.
Rather childish, really.
Ah!
A towel. Keep this and guard it with your life.
- Huh? - Listen.
It's a tough universe. There's all sorts of people and things
trying to do you, kill you, rip you off, everything.
If you're going to survive out there,
you've really gotta know where your towel is.
Now, fish.
Huh?
Fish. Over here, I think.
Fish?
(MACHINE BEEPING)
- Fish. - Very nice.
Very, very useful.
(WHIRRING)
What do you suspect me to do with that?
- Stick it in your ear. - What?
Well, it's only a little one.
(RUMBLING)
- Listen. - What's that?
- Listen. It's important. - What?
- It's the Vogon captain. - I can't speak Vogon.
You don't have to. Just put this in your ear.
- Ugh. - VOGON CAPTAIN: "man a good time."
Message repeat. This is your captain speaking.
So stop whatever you're doing and pay attention.
First of all, I see from our instruments
that we have a couple of hitchhikers on board our ship.
Hello, wherever you are.
I just want to make it totally clear that you are not at all welcome.
I worked hard to get where I am today.
I didn't become the captain of a Vogon ship
simply to turn it into a taxi service for a lot of degenerate freeloaders.
I've 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.
Now, secondly,
we are about to jump into hyperspace for the journey to Barnard's Star.
On arrival, we will stay in dock for 72 hours.
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.
- Message ends. - Poetry?
- What are you doing? - Preparing for hyperspace.
It's rather unpleasantly like being drunk.
- What's so wrong about being drunk? - Ask a glass of water. Now, lie down.
On your back. Grip the towel between your ankles like this.
- What? - Just do it!
- Like this? - Right.
Now, wait.
Excuse me, Ford, but what exactly am I doing with this fish in my ear?
It's translating for you. Look in the book under Babel Fish.
- ARTHUR: What's happening? - FORD: We're going
into hyperspace!
(BOTH GROANING)
ARTHUR: I'll never be cruel to a gin and tonic again!
(BOOK READING)
Hey, Ford. This towel's moved.
Yes. That's a six-light-yearjump.
Good. That means we' re near Bernard's Star.
- We can jump a ship there. - Can we?
Look. I hate to ask this, Ford, but what exactly am I doing here?
Simple.
- I rescued you from the Earth. - Well, what happened to the Earth?
- It's been disintegrated. - Has it?
Yes. Itjust boiled away into space.
Listen, I'm... I'm a bit upset about that.
Oh, well.
All gone? Nothing left?
What about the book? Maybe the book's got something...
(BOOK BUZZING)
- It doesn't seem to have an entry! - Yes, it does.
At the bottom of the screen.
Under "Eccentrica Gallumbits, the triple-breasted whore of Eroticon 6."
Oh, yes. What's it say?
- "Harmless". Just one word? Harmless? - Well, it's the old edition.
Listen, there are 100 billion stars in the galaxy
and not much space in the book.
And no one knew much about the Earth then, of course.
Well, I hope you've managed to rectify that a bit.
Well, yes, I've transmitted a new entry off to the editor.
He had to trim it a bit, but it's still an improvement.
What's it say now?
- Mostly harmless. - Mostly harmless?
Oh, come. I think that's pretty good coverage
for a disintegrated pile of rubble!
I see, and that's supposed to make me feel better, is it?
Come on, let's get down to the teleport.
(GROWLING)
What the hell's that?
If we're lucky, it's a Vogon guard come to throw us into space.
And if we're unlucky?
The Vogon captain might want to read us some of his poetry first.
(TH EME MUSIC PLAYING)