POOR
(Featuring Mitchell and Webb)
Open on a really shabby kitchen, dirty, untidy, totally unsophisticated. Mitchell seated at table while Webb serves up a couple of dinner plates. Each has a singed, sawn-off tree branch on it.
WEBB: There you go.
MITCHELL (Looks suspiciously at plate): What is it?
WEBB: Wood
MITCHELL: Oh God, not wood again. Why is it always wood?
WEBB (sitting down): Because we’re poor. That’s why it’s always wood.
MITCHELL (Turning over the wood with a fork): You’ve burned it!
WEBB (sarcastic expression): Oh, I’ve burned it! Of course I’ve burned it! It’s wood! Have you ever tried cooking wood? You heat it up, it burns.
MITCHELL: Is this all we’re having?
WEBB: Oh, I almost forgot. (Gets up, goes over to rancid filthy stove and comes back with an old paint can)
MITCHELL: What’s that?
WEBB: You don’t think we can afford saucepans do you? It’s all right, I got most of the paint out, and what’s left makes a rather nice gravy. (Dishes two round objects onto Mitchell’s plate)
MITCHELL: And these are?
WEBB: Stones. Fresh from the garden this morning. Only nature’s finest. (Sits down with a look of naïve wonderment). You know, we’re a bit like the Good Life aren’t we? Completely self sufficient.
MITCHELL: Completely starving.
WEBB: Yes, but it’s costing us nothing! That’s what you have to remember.
MITCHELL: Look, I’ve had enough of this. I want some proper food! I’m fed up with pretending to eat wood every day.
WEBB (outraged): Pretending? You told me you were enjoying it!
MITCHELL (awkwardly): Yes, well…
WEBB: So if you weren’t eating it, what have you been doing with it?
MITCHELL: If you must know, I’ve been carving a chess set.
WEBB: How many times have I told you not to play with your food?
MITCHELL: Once. Just now, in fact.
WEBB: And where is this chess set that you’ve been making from my painstakingly prepared dinners?
MITCHELL gets up and fetches a chopping board. On it are some rudimentary figures bearing no resemblance to chess pieces.
WEBB: What a waste of good food! That would have done for three days’ dinners.
MITCHELL (picking up a piece): Here you go, you can make a nice pawn cocktail. Get it?
WEBB: Oh very funny! Well I’m sorry, but if wood’s not good enough for you, you’ll be making your own dinners from now on.
MITCHELL: I won’t be making them out of wood, that’s for certain.
WEBB: I just don’t understand you! What could be more natural than a lovely piece of wood? Free from artificial colourings or preservatives.
MITCHELL: That steak we had yesterday was varnished.
WEBB: It was not varnished! It was honey glazed.
MITCHELL: Yes. With varnish.
WEBB: All right, it had a bit of varnish on it. At least it wasn’t full of hormones…
MITCHELL: Or proteins.
WEBB: Exactly. Who wants their food stuffed full of proteins? This is real food! Nature’s own bounty.
MITCHELL: I’d kill for a Bounty bar…
WEBB (Ignoring him): Wood! Stones! Leaves, grass, mud! It’s all readily available if you know where to look. If you’re a hunter gatherer like I am…
MITCHELL: Hunter gatherer? In the back garden?
WEBB: It’s a jungle out there.
MITCHELL: It’s a lawn and one shrub. Admittedly, it’s a bit overgrown. Or rather it was before you started hacking branches off and serving them up on a plate.
WEBB: We have to survive! We’ve got no money. What else would you suggest?
MITCHELL: Even Robinson Crusoe wasn’t reduced to eating wood.
WEBB: Yes, well he had a whole desert island to choose from. I’d like to see Robinson Crusoe make a Crème Anglais from his own semen…
MITCHELL (look of horror): Oh my God! You didn’t… did you?
WEBB: Well…no. I’ll admit, I experimented, but it was a bit too salty for my taste.
MITCHELL: Look, I think I’ll stick to wood. At least I know what I’m eating.
WEBB: Mmm. Your wardrobe.
MARS
(Featuring Mitchell and Webb)
A military office, maps, flags, star charts, two wall-mounted maps of the planet Mars. Mitchell seated, in military uniform. Enter Webb in lab coat and glasses, carrying a folder.
MITCHELL: Ah, Carstairs. Are the results of the survey in?
WEBB: They are (Looks slightly doubtful).
MITCHELL: Well then, let’s see them.
WEBB: Yes. Let’s see them. Are you sure you want to see them?
MITCHELL: What’s the matter? I was told the survey had been successful. We’ve finally managed to locate life on Mars.
WEBB: Well, we have but…
MITCHELL: Never mind but! This is a historic moment, man! Life on another planet! I suppose it’s going to be fairly primitive, but even so… What have you found? Protozoa, simple mosses, micro organisms?
WEBB: Actually, no.
MITCHELL: Maybe a single-celled organism? A tiny bacterium?
WEBB: No, none of those.
MITCHELL: Well what form of life is it then? What did the probe discover?
WEBB (Doubtfully): A swan.
MITCHELL: Did I hear you correctly?
WEBB: If you heard me say ‘a swan’, then yes.
MITCHELL (Very slowly): Right, and this will be some scientific term that I’m not familiar with?
WEBB: No, it’s just a swan. I’ve got a picture of it. (Takes a photo of a swan out of his folder and hands it over).
MITCHELL: That’s a swan.
WEBB: Yes.
MITCHELL: And you’re telling me the probe found this… on Mars? A swan?
WEBB: A swan. Yes.
MITCHELL: A swan. On Mars. Just the one?
WEBB: Seemingly.
MITCHELL: You checked, I suppose.
WEBB: Oh yes, the probe was very thorough.
MITCHELL: So you’re telling me that the sum total of living organisms on the planet Mars consists of… a swan?
WEBB: One swan, that’s right.
MITCHELL: There couldn’t be a mistake I suppose?
WEBB: We checked. No mistake. Just a swan.
MITCHELL: On Mars.
WEBB: Correct.
MITCHELL: Any ideas how it got there?
WEBB: We’re working on a theory at the moment.
MITCHELL: And your theory is?
WEBB: It flew.
MITCHELL: From earth?
WEBB: Or some other planet where they have swans.
MITCHELL: There’s no air on Mars. And no water. How did it survive in the vacuum of space?
WEBB: We think it’s a special kind of swan.
MITCHELL: Special? In what way?
WEBB: We think it’s a space swan.
MITCHELL: What’s a space swan?
WEBB: Er… a swan… from space.
MITCHELL: That’s impossible, man!
WEBB: They said travelling faster than the speed of light was impossible.
MITCHELL: That’s because it is. Look Carstairs, this isn’t good enough. Your team has been working for five years on the Mars survey and all you can come up with is a picture of a swan. I’d like to bet there isn’t a swan on Mars at all. Look, you can see grass here in the photograph.
WEBB: Oh, didn’t I mention that? There’s grass on Mars as well.
MITCHELL: Space grass I suppose? And that flew there as well did it?
WEBB: No, it grew.
MITCHELL: Carstairs, we have spent ten billion dollars developing a programme dedicated to discovering life on other planets. Ten billion dollars! And all we’ve got to show for it is a swan and some grass!
WEBB: I’d say that’s money well spent. Wait til you see what we found on Venus.
MITCHELL: It’s not by any chance a swan is it?
WEBB (glance inside his folder): Have you been looking?
MITCHELL: I can’t stand up and announce to the world’s media that the search for life on other planets has produced a swan!
WEBB: Two swans. So far. There may be others out there.
MITCHELL: I hope for your sake that there aren’t, Carstairs.
WEBB: It’s the scientific discovery of the generation!
MITCHELL: I’ll tell you what it is, Carstairs. It’s a page that’s been torn out of a children’s encyclopedia. (Picks up photo and turns it around – there is print on the reverse side)
WEBB: But that’s a nicer picture. The one from the probe wasn’t very good.
MITCHELL: You might as well admit it, Carstairs. The probe didn’t send back any pictures, did it?
WEBB: No.
MITCHELL: And there isn’t a swan on Mars.
WEBB: No. We just made it up. We thought it seemed reasonably convincing.
MITCHELL: Did you. And what happened to the probe?
WEBB: We lost contact with it when it sunk.
MITCHELL: Sunk? There aren’t any oceans on Mars.
WEBB: Ah, well I was coming to that. You see, it appears that the surface of Mars is… (hesitantly) made of soup.
MITCHELL: Soup?
WEBB: Tomato soup. That explains the red colour… (guesses from Mitchell’s expression that he doesn’t believe him). Minestrone?
SHE LOVES YOU
Ideally would be performed by Peter Serafinowicz
Lennon and McCartney with their guitars, in the throes of composition.
PAUL: Hey, I’ve had a great idea for a song. Let me play it to you. (Sings): ‘She loves me, yes, yes, yes, she loves me, yes, yes yes, and with a love like that, I know I should be glad.’ What do you think?
JOHN: You can’t sing that, it’s rubbish.
PAUL: What do you mean?
JOHN: It’s just self-congratulatory. You’d be better off singing ‘She Hates Me.’ That’s what Bob Dylan would do.
PAUL: Look, just stop pretending to be Bob Dylan, will you? I’ll sing you some more of it: ‘She said I hurt her so… she almost lost her leg.’
JOHN: Hang on, what’s that all about? How did she lose her leg?
PAUL: I don’t know. Maybe she trod on a land mine or something.
JOHN: Right, cause that’s always happening isn’t it? Especially in boy meets girl pop songs. Next time your girlfriend steps on a land mine and blows her leg off, you tell me, all right?
PAUL: Well, I thought it was a pretty good song myself. What have you got?
JOHN: Mine’s called I Want to Hold Your Hair.
PAUL: Hare? As in a small furry animal a bit like a rabbit?
JOHN: No, as in what grows out of a bird’s head.
PAUL: What, like a blackbird, you mean? Hey, that gives me another idea… (singing, to the tune of She Loves You): Blackbird, yeah, yeah yeah…
JOHN: Look, do you want to hear this song or don’t you?
PAUL: Not with a stupid title like that.
JOHN: At least there are no land mines in it.
PAUL: Ah, but how do you know? You can never tell if there’s a land mine in a pop song until you walk into it. You have to feel your way with a big stick.
JOHN: Look, I am not singing a song called ‘She Loves Me.’ What else have you got?
PAUL: How about this one? It’s called Yellow Submarine.
JOHN: Now you’re being bleeding ridiculous. What happens in that one? Does it get blown up by a mine by any chance?
PAUL: It might do.
JOHN: Look, if you can’t do any better than this, I’m going to start writing songs with Ringo. (Shouts out) Hey, Ring, you got any ideas for a song?
RINGO: Actually, guys, I have. It’s called Octopus's Garden.
LONG SILENCE
RINGO: Guys?
JOHN: Okay Paul, so ‘She Loves Me’, how does it go again?
© 2010, Martin Cater. No reproduction without permission
