The Guitarist That Ate My Band- Preface:
After reading the original ‘The Guitarist That Ate My Band’ by JS Hopkins, I realised that only the first scene had actually been scripted- the trailer, if you like. Finding the entire idea both hilarious and intriguing, I decided that somebody should finish it and that, for some reason, that person should be me. (Well, why not- I am a student after all, and apparently all we do is sit around all day drinking beer and smoking marijuana- I mean, it isn’t like I’d actually have any studying to do now, is it?) So, to make a long story even longer, here is the first part of The Guitarist That Ate My Band. Now, if I told you how many parts it would be in, that would give the game away now, wouldn’t it? Because I have it all planned, you see… No, really I have… come back!
One final note- I have changed some of the original casting that JS Hopkins chose, on grounds of pickiness and availability of photographs J. Also, although there are no prizes for spotting which films I’ve parodied, you may get some satisfaction from having a go (maybe, if that’s your thing, I dunno).
So, without further ado…
DISCLAIMER: All characters in this script are fictitious and bear no resemblance to any persons living, dead, or feeling a bit under the weather. Ahem. J
After the opening trailer, three months has elapsed since the enigmatic Ritchie Blackmore first decided to co-opt the American rock band Elf into helping him record ‘Black Sheep of the Family’. However, his nefarious nature is starting to become more palpable to the rest of his band…
Cast List:
Principle (in alphabetical order):
Jimmy Bain- John Hannah
Ritchie Blackmore- Alan Rickman
Ronnie James Dio- Tom Cruise
Gary Driscoll- Beau Bridges (when he was young)
Craig Gruber- Simon Ward
Cozy Powell- Timothy Dalton
Mickey Lee Soule- Keanu Reeves (but not with that fat hairy wife-beater look he had in ‘The Gift’)
Guest (in order of appearance):
Woman In Café- Gwyneth Paltrow
Vicar- James Stewart
SCENE ONE: Exterior scene of a ‘concrete heaven’ style recording studio building, reminiscent of the worst ‘Sixties architecture you can imagine, but at the end of an archetypal winding, crooked road reserved for ‘Fifties horror films. Trees line the path either side… you get the picture. A blood-red horror-esque font, bearing the legend “Three Months Later” fades in and out, followed by “About Tea Time”, then finally, “Probably. I Mean, I Dunno- I Didn’t Write This, I’m Just A Font, God Damn It!”
CUT TO:
SCENE TWO: Interior of said recording studio- bog standard fare. Ronnie James Dio is finishing the last note of a particularly difficult song. As he lifts off the headphones, he is applauded by fellow band members Gary Driscoll, Mickey Lee Soule and Craig Gruber. Ritchie Blackmore offers similar encouragement, but in a slightly more indifferent manner.
CG: Good job, Ronnie.
RJD: (sweating profusely) Thanks (wipes his brow and unbuttons his shirt by two buttons) God, I’m so hot! (pauses) In a warm and sticky way, not a porn star girl magnet way.
MLS: (sarcastically) You didn’t need to tell us that, Ron.
As Ronnie James Dio fills a glass with water from the sink taps, he notices Mickey Lee Soule staring at him oddly.
RJD: (feeling somewhat self-conscious) What? What is it?
MLS: Oh, nothing Ron, it’s just- where did you get that mark on your neck?
GD: (stares at it, grinning) Ooh, have you been playing with the Sixth Form girls in that Catholic school at the end of the road again?
RJD: (sardonically) Hardee- har- har (looks down at the gruesome weeping scar, which is roughly the same size as the area your two knuckles closest to your thumb cover). Well, actually… I’m not sure… Now, that is odd, I’m sure I’d remember getting something like that…
GD: (nudges RJD in the ribs) I certainly would if it involved Cynthia the Head Girl
CG: Gary, will you take your mind off the Sixth Formers for once?
GD: What? No- I was thinking about Cynthia, the, ahem, courtesan that works down on the East Side… I have to hand it to you, Ronnie, that is the mother of all hickeys!
RB: (in a voice far too calm to be sane) Lovebites, Gary. We call them lovebites over here. Please try not to be overly American.
GD: (slight exasperation in his voice) Ritchie, I am an American. It’s what I do- it’s like asking you to not be a guitar playing lunatic who smashes his Strats’ out of boredom whilst on stage. Or asking Steve Harley and the Cockney Rebels not to be annoying twats…
RJD: (waves his hand dismissively) That’s not important now- I think we should break for afternoon tea
RB: (who’s beginning to look a little pale and sweaty, as though he’s suddenly come down with consumption) Well, whilst you four retire for the next… however long, I’m just nipping off to check my…erm, guitar tuning (mutters) or something (dashes off in a bizarre manner)
GD: What’s eating him?
MLS: (shrugs his shoulders) Dunno. Anyhow- I second that motion, Ronnie. Afternoon tea.
He reaches into a nearby fridge, and hauls out a crate of bitter. Each band member takes a tin, and as the ring pulls hiss at different times, Mickey Lee Soule appears perturbed.
MLS: Guys, don’t you think this (makes inverted comma symbols with his fingers) ‘Afternoon Tea’ thing might actually involve… I dunno, maybe tea?
Gary Driscoll, Ronnie James Dio and Craig Gruber all exchange glances.
CG: Nah.
RJD: I’m with him.
GD: Where’s the fun in that?
CG: (changing the subject) I’m having a lot of difficulty with the bass line to this track we’ve been working on… I miss Steve. I could bounce off him…
GD: (guaffaws uncontrollably)
CG: Bounce ideas off him, Gary. Good God- is that all you ever think about?
GD: (affronted) No! (pauses) I leave room for drum patterns and alcohol consumption.
RJD: (pensively) Well, there’s nothing we can do about it: he’s gone.
GD: What, left?
RJD: No, I mean gone gone. He dies when a kerosene lamp in our old studio set his amp. alight in a freak accident, remember?
GD: Oh yeah (pauses. His expression changes to something more incredulous) I’m sorry, but I’m still not buying that- nobody dies in such horrible and bizarre circumstances. (pause) Well, not since Roal Dahl’s ‘Tales Of the Unexpected’, anyway.
CG: Well, all things going as they have been, perhaps we’ll at least get a bit more notice, what with working with Ritchie Blackmore.
They all nod in agreement.
CG: (staring across at RJD, who has pulled his shirt collar down to fully expose his neck, and is currently prodding the weeping scar MLS pointed out earlier) Ronnie, don’t prod at it! You’ll only make it worse.
RJD: (grabs one hand with the other and puts it behind his back) Sorry.
At this point, Ritchie Blackmore re-enters the room, dressed in his coat and pilgrims hat, the former of which is billowing behind him, and with ‘Danse Macabre’ playing in the background.
RB: Hello again, boys.
RJD: Hey Ritchie. (pauses) Hang on, I am actually older than you, so the ‘boys’ epithet doesn’t really…
RB: Ronnie, my office please?
RJD: (looking slightly worried) Erm, okay…
FADE TO:
SCENE THREE: Dodgy looking strip club. During the following discourse, various nubile strippers show their wares, much to the chagrin of both Ritchie Blackmore and Ronnie James Dio.
RB: (puts his pint glass down on the table) Well, Ronnie- mind if I call you Ronnie?
RJD: N... no, not at all.
RB: (pause) Mind if I call you James?
RJD: Erm, why?
RB: Because, I like calling people by their middle names.
RJD: (smiling, as a woman walks past that RB seems to take an interest in) So (loudly) in that case, can I call you Harold?
RB: (winces in embarrassment) Oh all right, fair play Ja.. I mean, Ronnie.
RJD: (downs his pint) No problem- anyway, what did you want to see me about?
RB: Well…
An impromptu stripping session involving two girls suddenly appears in front of their table.
RJD: Why have you made this place (tuts as he tries to rescue his pint from a discarded G-string) your office, anyway?
RB: Hmm, I don’t know, come to think of it. It seemed a fun idea at the time, but now the impracticalities of the whole location are starting to rear their ugly heads (overly excessive whooping from a table of nearby drunken men is clearly audible, as the two women move over to their vicinity), so to speak.
RJD: Anyway, what were you saying?
RB: Ah, yes- It’s about your band.
RJD: Elf? It isn’t actually my band, we’re kinda democra…
RB: Nice sounding band you’ve got there, Ronnie. (pause) I was going to say nice looking, but (chuckles) then I noticed you.
RJD: (slightly affronted) Hey! At least I don’t have personality and relationship interaction issues.
RB: (waves his hand dismissively) That isn’t important. The point is- I’d like you to be in my new band.
RJD: (eyes him suspiciously) Your band?
RB: Okay, okay, my solo project that I’ll have masquerade as a band for all involved. (rubs the rim of his glass with his finger) So, you in?
RJD: (thinks, rubs his scar as he does so. RB smiles knowingly upon watching him perform such an action) Hmm, it’s very tempting (pauses, his expression changes) but I have a loyalty to the guys... could I take them with me? You’re gonna need a keyboardist, drummer and bass player- and you said yourself that they were good.
RB: (close up- evil glare) Of course- I can take care of them- ah, ha, ha, haaaaa (evil Dracula-esque laugh)
RJD: (beams, having completely missed RB’s sinister display) Really? Wow- then I’d love to… (face falls) No, wait- Roger Glover has asked me to get together with him to record some stuff. I can’t just phone him up and say I’ve changed my mind…
RB: (leans over) I’ll give you fifty percent of the song writing composition and full control over the lyrics…
RJD: (interrupts him) I’ll phone Roger.
CUT TO:
SCENE FOUR: Darkness. Craig Gruber is snoring in an armchair in the corner of the hotel bar. A clock on the wall reads ‘3:15 AM’. Footsteps are audible in the distance- Ritchie’s home.
Ritchie Blackmore creeps towards Craig Gruber’s sleeping frame and takes a bottle out of his jacket pocket which has the words “ACME Grow Your Own Bass Player: Endo-Parasitic Version- Super speedy- less than half the normal gestation period!” clearly written on its label. He attaches the contents to a syringe, then rolls Craig Gruber’s shirtsleeve up, exposing his forearm. Th only audible sound is that of a hiss as Ritchie Blackmore empties the contents of said syringe into Craig’s radial vein. He shudders in his sleep, but does not awaken. Ritchie Blackmore gently teases the needle out of Craig Gruber’s arm and creeps away.
OFF CAMERA: (Ritchie laughing evilly- camera shots of the room, the studio and finally the outside gothic surroundings, accompany said laughter)
CUT TO:
SCENE FIVE: Craig Gruber’s hotel room. Elf are now no more- they, alongside Ritchie Blackmore and his white Stratocaster, are now Rainbow. But Craig appears rather under the weather.
RJD: (shouting across the en-suite bathroom, where Craig is currently vomiting loudly) Christ, Craig, how much did you drink last night?
CG: (off camera, in between hurling) Hardly anything, a few pints...
MLS: (arms folded) And just how many pints constitutes ‘a few’?
CG: (still off camera) Erm, about seven (starts to heave again)
GD: (sniggers) Lightweight!
Ritchie Blackmore enters, his pilgrim hat under one arm.
RB: Everything alright, chaps?
MLS: Pretty much.
GD: Yeah, Craig’s just vomiting the mucosa tissue layer of his alimentary canal up- nothing to worry about. He’ll be fine after a nice, greasy fry-up (cups his hand around his mouth and raises his voice) Isn’t that right, Craig?
CG: (off camera) Eurgh, Gary! (heaves again)
After a short while, Craig Gruber emerges, looking a little pale.
RJD: Seriously, Craig, you should eat something- do you want some dry toast?
CG: Hmm, I could do… (pauses) Actually, I tell you what I really fancy- some pickled gherkins with custard!
MLS: (looks at him incredulously) What?
CG: (rubs his hands together with the thought) Um huh!
Ronnie James Dio, Mickey Lee Soule and Gary Driscoll exchange perturbed glances. Ritchie Blackmore merely smiles enigmatically.
CUT TO:
SCENE SIX: Recording studio, again. The words “Four Months Later” appear on the screen in the same blood-red horror-esque font as they did in Scene One. Craig Gruber is playing the bass part of ‘Sixteenth Century Greensleeves’. He appears to have gained quite a beer belly and has to play his bass beneath his stomach as a result.
CG: (as he finishes) Well?
RJD: Yeah, that was fine Craig- do you think you could just try the last four bars again, but in a ¾ pattern, just to see what it sounds like?
CG: (suddenly flushes with anger) Excuse me?
RJD: (notices the change in Craig’s disposition, and raises his palms accordingly) I just wondered how it would sound…
CG: Oh, I get it- my bass playing isn’t good enough for you!
RJD: (worriedly) No, I didn’t say that at all…
CG: You implied it, you bastard! You don’t know when to leave it alone, do you?- Bloody short arsed wanker- just because you used to play…
RJD: (interrupting) Craig, you’ve really got me all wrong! I just wanted to hear what it would sound like...
CG: (even more defensively) Oh, so once again, it’s all my fault. Well, tell you what (starts to take his bass strap off from around his shoulders) seeing as you’re so fucking brilliant, you do it! (throws his bass right at Ronnie, who ducks it, and it crashes straight into one of the amps as a result. Craig storms off, crying)
RJD: (wincing, as he hears numerous doors slam) What’s gotten into him? That’s the seventh time this week he’s gone and done that, and it’s only Tuesday.
MLS: Do you think we should go after him?
GD: (narked) Yeah, with a big stick.
MLS: Gary! I know he’s acting like a bit of a prick, but he seems really upset.
GD: Oh yeah- mood swings, crying fits- it’s like he’s got PMS. Or he’s pregnant. It’d explain the gut.
RJD: (jokingly) And the cravings.
MLS: (similarly jocular) Yeah, and the sudden urges to sniff creosote.
RJD: And the early morning vomiting sessions.
GD: (expression changes to one of perturbation mixed with slight fear) Um, guys… you don’t suppose he actually is pregnant, do you?
MLS: (sarcastically) Well, now you come to mention it, that’s entirely likely. (pause) Except maybe for the physiological impossibilities!
GD: Alright, alright, keep your hair on!
Craig Gruber enters the room again- he’s looking very pale and is sweating profusely.
CG: (weakly) I don’t feel so good.
Ronnie James Dio fetches him a chair, Craig eases himself into it. Gary Driscoll and Mickey Lee Soule also gather around.
MLS: What’s the matter, Craig?
CG: I’m not sure. (pauses to wipe his brow. Suddenly, he winces in agony and clutches his stomach) It’s like… it’s as though something’s inside me and it’s trying to get out.
GD: You don’t suppose it was last night’s…
Suddenly, Craig Gruber’s stomach explodes, covering Ronnie James Dio, Mickey Lee Soule and Gary Driscoll with bodily tissue, blood and the occasional intestinal organ. They all stare in disbelief as a man, played by John Hannah, falls out of his stomach and onto the floor.
GD: (finishes his original sentence) Biriani?
MLS: My God! (pause) Is he alright?
RJD: (indignantly) Oh yeah- (lifts up a recognisable length of large intestine) Nothing an aspirin won’t cure!
There is a silent pause as they all look at Craig Gruber’s now quite distended body. Suddenly, Gary Driscoll’s attention is drawn to something entirely different.
GD: (puzzled) Erm, guys- what’s that? (he points at the Newly Emerged Man, covered in Craig Gruber’s gut wall and juices)
NEM: Drink! (claps his hands once to emphasise this point)
They all collectively narrow their eyes and scratch their heads at this strange creature. At this point, the camera pans to Ritchie Blackmore, who steps over Craig Gruber’s stomach mess, then raises his head slightly, followed by his eyes as the camera performs a close-up shot.
RB: That, is your new bass player.
Lightening and thunder strike, illuminating Ronnie James Dio, Mickey Lee Soule and Gary Driscoll’s worried looking faces.
JB: (pulls at table with beer on it) Drink!
CUT TO:
SCENE SEVEN: A random, non-descript greasy spoon café. Gary Driscoll and Mickey Lee Soule are sitting at a table, anxiously looking at their watches. The door opens and Ronnie James Dio walks in, with a now dressed Jimmy Bain in tow.
GD: (to Ronnie James Dio) You took your time- where’ve you been?
RJD: (slightly breathless) Ritchie started to follow me, so I had to shake him off!
MLS: (gesturing towards Jimmy Bain) Erm, why did you bring that?
RJD: Oh, he followed me here. (grins with pride) I think he likes me.
MLS: (indignantly) He says nothing but ‘drink’!
RJD: Oh, he says other stuff.
GD: (arms folded) Oh yeah, like what?
RJD: Erm (scratches his head)
JB: (points at a woman sitting nearby, who is played by Gwyneth Paltrow) Tits!
The blonde haired, English sounding woman stares at him dangerously. Ronnie James Dio tries to intervene.
RJD: (to woman) I’m really sorry… (pauses, trying to find the right words to explain their predicament) You see, he’s a newly sired human parasite. A bass player- he killed our last bass player by tearing through his alimentary canal whilst he was due for…
WOMAN: (tiredly, but not without vexation) Please, save the explanation for someone who cares.
She goes back to drinking her coffee. Ronnie James Dio shivers for effect, then turns back to the original conversation he was engaged in with the remainder of the band.
MLS: Well, not only do we have a new bass player then, but an added depth to our wit. (pause) Well, in the case of Gary we have.
GD: Oi, watch it, organ boy (flicks a wet tea bag at him)
MLS: Look, can we please get back to the matter in hand, please? Steve’s bit the dust, Craig just bid the long ‘so long’ and Ronnie’s got a weeping scar on his neck the shape, if not the exact size, of Australia. Doesn’t anybody else find this just a little suspicious?
RJD: (gulps a slug of coffee) Ritchie.
MLS: What?
RJD: Ritchie. He’s near the door.
GD: (cranes his neck to see) Where?
MLS: Are you sure, Ronnie?
RJD: Yes.
MLS: There’s nobody there.
GD: Oh, this is getting silly…
RB: Hello boys, what’s this- (jocular) a secret meeting to conspire against me?
Mickey Lee Soule and Gary Driscoll stare at Ronnie James Dio, slack jawed.
GD: (mouths silently) How did you…?
RJD: (nudges Gary Driscoll sharply, but inconspicuously) Very funny Ritchie…
MLS: (laughs too loudly) Yeah Ritchie, whatever gave you that idea?
GD: (sotto) Alright Mickey, don’t overdo it!
RB: (sits down to join them) So, everything alright?
RJD: (currently the only one capable of rational conversation) Yeah, not too bad- how about yourself?
RB: Oh, okay. A bit… uninspired, I suppose (looks at Ronnie’s neck)
Ronnie James Dio pallors and rubs his neck in discomfort. Ritchie Blackmore looks genuinely surprised when he faints and falls off his chair onto the floor.
GD: (jumps from his seat and points at Ritchie Blackmore) I knew it! He’s next!
RB: (sinister manner) Next for what? (raises an eyebrow enigmatically)
GD: Um, um (stutters and flusters)
WOMAN: (drops to her knees and unbuttons Ronnie James Dio’s shirt in order to increase the chance of air reaching his lungs, somewhat unnecessarily, seeing as it’s only done up to his chest anyway) Yes, next in line to get that awful bug… (to Ritchie Blackmore) You must have heard of it?
RB: Can’t say that I have.
WOMAN: Really? It’s been in the news quite a bit. (pause) Or else he just fainted. It is rather stuffy in here.
Ronnie James Dio starts to come around.
RJD: (clutching his head slightly) Urgh, what just happened?
RB: You fainted. (picks him up) Come on- I’ll take you to get some fresh air by the small back alley hidden away from all view next to this café.
RJD: Thanks Ritchie, but really, I feel fine…
RB: No you don’t, now come along. (practically drags him outside)
MLS: (to WOMAN) thanks.
WOMAN: Don’t mention it.
MLS: We’re really grateful.
WOMAN: No, really- don’t mention it, I’m trying to finish the paper before I have to get back to work.
MLS: Fair play. (returns to face Gary Driscoll) Are you sure Ronnie’s going to be alright out there?
GD: (waves his hand in dismissal) Yeah, why shouldn’t he be?
MLS: Well, what with Steve and Craig’s premature deaths when alone in Ritchie’s presence...
GD: (interrupting) Oh fuck, yeah! (gets up) Come on Mickey, he might get his hands on Ronnie!
MLS: (sighs) Drummers.
CUT TO:
SCENE EIGHT: Outside the café, in a small back alley way hidden from all view next to said establishment. Ritchie Blackmore is necking (not in the biblical way) a half-insensible Ronnie James Dio. Suddenly, he hears the loud stumbling of Gary Driscoll and Mickey Lee Soule, and promptly runs away and leaps up onto a building, ‘Bram Stoker’s Dracula’ style, leaving Ronnie James Dio crumpled up in a heap.
MLS: (off camera) Jesus, Gary, how much noise can any one guy make? We might as well just shout ‘Hello Ritchie! Stop kidnapping our single and we won’t trash your Strat!’
GD: Well, actually, Ritchie doesn’t trash his own Strat, but a whole stock of cheap Japanese copies for effect.
MLS: (pause) nobody likes a smart arse, Gary.
Gary Driscoll and Mickey Lee Soule stumble upon Ronnie James Dio- quite literally, as Mickey Lee Soule almost loses his footing as he trips over his body.
MLS: (loudly) Ronnie? (bends down and lifts his head back) Ronnie, can you hear me?
GD: (lifts Ronnie’s hair away from his face and neck) Why has his mark grown?…
RJD: (interrupts by coughing loudly, then randomly moaning) Urgh… for the last time, no- I don’t want to play tennis… Oh wow, dragons… Are those suspenders yours?… Ouch… Oww- God that hurts… Stop it, please stop…
MLS: Ronnie, wake up you son of a bitch, you’re really starting to creep me out!
RJD: (wakes up) Ow, my head… (looks around at Gary Driscoll and Mickey Lee Soule) What happened?
MLS: We were hoping you could tell us (helps Ronnie James Dio to his feet) What’s the last thing you remember?
RJD: (thinks hard) Um, I remember sitting in that café with you guys… and the woman drinking coffee that Jimmy shouted at.
GD: Jimmy, who’s Jimmy?
RJD: Jimmy Bain- the new bass player.
GD: Well, I didn’t know he had a name!
MLS: Neither did I.
RJD: Well, he does. (pause) Come on, if he didn’t, that would just be silly, wouldn’t it?
MLS: (thinks) Hmm, s’pose so. Anyway- can you remember anything after that?
RJD: (screws his eyes up in concentration) Not really- it all goes pretty fuzzy after that.
MLS: (offers his arm for RJD to lean against as they walk) Come on, we’ll take you back to the hotel. (walks off with Ronnie James Dio)
Gary Driscoll stays standing where he is, staring as Mickey Lee Soule and Ronnie James Dio walk away.
GD: (to himself) It’s Ritchie, I just know it. I thought, the moment I first met him- ‘He is not right in the head’
Gary Driscoll walks off. The camera pans to the foot of a building just above Gary Driscoll’s head- Ritchie Blackmore has been listening the whole time. Dramatic music swells in crescendo as the camera zooms in on Ritchie’s vengeful expression.
CUT TO:
SCENE NINE: The interior of an old, abandoned warehouse. The screen is subtitled ‘Ritchie’s Secret Bunker’. A scraping sound can be heard coming from the nearby escape door. A sudden clang, and a crowbar peeks through the hinges. As the door is forced open, we see the intruder is Gary Driscoll, clad in cat-burglar style gear, complete with baraclava and abseiling equipment. He creeps across the room and starts flicking through piles of paper, filing cabinets and the like, clearly in search of something.
GD: (sotto, to himself) There has to be some sort of a clue as to Ritchie’s evil plans here!
As he scours the room, he moves an old coffee mug and newspaper, which reveals an A2 aeronautical style plan, many pages long, with the title ‘Ritchie’s Evil Plans- Parts 1 to 7 Plus Appendix’.
GD: I knew it! (he opens up the plan.
The camera zooms in on ‘Ritchie’s Evil Plans’ and remains there while Gary Driscoll opens it and begins to read. The first page is entitled: ‘1957- Piss Parents Off’. The line directly beneath this reads ‘Get guitar and learn to play very loudly in my room that is directly under their living room!’ Gary Driscoll flicks through the plan and reaches ‘1969- Fire some members of Deep Purple.’ Below this ‘1973- Ditto’. Then ‘1974- Leave Deep Purple. N.B- find new band to infiltrate and take over to form own solo project’. Finally ‘1975-‘ And what follows is a list of all the members of Elf, with Steve Edwards and Craig Gruber crossed off methodically with red biro. Gary Driscoll stares in horror, as he notices an asterisk by Ronnie James Dio’s name.
GD: Oh my God! He’s next, I have to warn him!
RB: (off camera) Ah, but will you get the chance?
Gary Driscoll jumps and whirls around. In shock at seeing Ritchie Blackmore seemingly sneak up behind him without giving any clue as to his appearance, he starts to stammer in panic.
GD: Erm, Ritchie! Hi! I was just, just…
RB: (eyeing him strangely) Welly welly welly welly welly welly well- It appears I have what can only be described as an enemy…
GD: (fearfully) No, no no no! What gave you that idea? (pauses, and his expression becomes puzzled) And why are you speaking in that weird way, anyhow?
RB: What difference does it make? (leans over to the plan, then leans back) When you’re going to die anyway.
GD: Wh, what?
RB: You know too much. People like you are dangerous. Not to mention irritating.
Gary Driscoll backs into the table and sends a coffee cup flying. He steadies himself by placing his palms on the table.
GD: (with steely resolve) What are you going to do with me?
RB: (puts his finger to his lips in contemplation) Hmm, good question (begins to pace), I mean, there are so many ways… There’s chainsaws, for one. Or, I could give you paper cuts all over your body then slowly drown you in lemon juice. (thinks harder) Or- if I was feeling really evil- I could play you ‘Barry Manilow’s Greatest Hits’…
As Ritchie Blackmore is pontificating the ways to bump off Gary Driscoll, said drummer makes a run for the door. Ritchie Blackmore spots him just as he’s a few metres from the door.
RB: Oh, so it, I’ll just crush him with his own instrument! Ha- ha-ha- haaaa (vampiric laughter)
Ritchie Blackmore pulls out a pair of shears and cuts through a nearby rope. The resulting action is that a very large drum riser falls down from the sky and crashes onto Gary Driscoll’s head.
RB: (sings the song ‘Singin’ In the Rain’ as he steps over Gary Driscoll’s body, the drum riser and kit.) Ritchie then leans across the table and the camera closes in on him crossing out Gary Driscoll’s name on his ‘Secret Evil Plan’ list. He drops the pen, which in a feat of overwrought, pretentious symbolism, spins between the names of Ronnie James Dio and Mickey Lee Soule.
CUT TO:
SCENE TEN: A churchyard. It is Gary Driscoll’s funeral, and, amongst his family and friends, are Ronnie James Dio, Mickey Lee Soule and Ritchie Blackmore. They are all dressed in black, although Mickey Lee Soule and Ronnie James Dio are wearing black T-shirts with the slogan ‘Go Elf Yourself’ emblazoned upon them. Ritchie Blackmore eyes them disapprovingly.
RJD: What? It’s all we could find in our wardrobes that was black!
MLS: Yeah- it’s not often we have to go to funerals at our age.
VICAR: …And so we consign Gary’s body to the ground, but his soul unto heaven, ashes to ashes, dust to dust…
RJD: (nudges MLS) Did we have to bring our own dust?
MLS: No, you idiot, they bring it round on one of those silver gardening trowels. Didn’t you learn anything during Religious Education?
RJD: I used to cut that class at school.
MLS: Oh yeah, let me guess, to practise your fingering skills?
RJD: Something like that… (pause) We were just discussing the trumpet, right?
MLS: (wistfully) If that’s what you want to believe, Ronnie.
The trowel of dirt is passed around the nearby congregation, and an elderly woman passes it onto Ronnie James Dio.
OLD LADY: Here you go, young lady.
RJD: Wait, I’m not… Never mind. (he takes the trowel and proceeds to begin emptying its contents over the coffin, before Mickey Lee Soule stops him)
MLS: No, Ronnie, you just take a handful. (demonstrates)
RJD: Oh, I see! I can’t help this, I‘m from an Italian-American family. Very few people of such a background die before they’re one hundred and eleven. (pause) Unless they wind up in the Mafia, I suppose.
VICAR: …Amen.
CONGREGATION: Amen.
They all depart for the obligatory buffet, which has always struck me as odd- you’re dead, so everybody goes back to your old house and eats cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off- anyway, back to the story.
RB: (to Ronnie and Mickey) Are you coming?
RJD: I think we’d just like to hang around. Y’know, say our last farewells.
RB: Sure thing (pats their arms) I’ll see you later.
Ritchie Blackmore walks off, leaving Ronnie James Dio and Mickey Lee Soule sitting with their legs dangling over the grave into where Gary’s coffin now is, swigging from a bottle of Jack Daniels.
RJD: Geez, I can’t believe he’s gone. (pause) Wait, didn’t I say that about Steve?
MLS: Yup. And Craig. I think you’re becoming naïve in your old age.
RJD: Oh well. (pours the remainder of their bottle of Jack Daniels into Gary’s grave) There you go Gary- (pensively) have a drink on us.
A muffled sound interrupts their train of thought. The noise appears to be coming from the coffin, along with a persistent ‘tap tapping’.
RJD: (puzzled) did you just hear that?
MLS: Hear what?
GD: (muffled, quietly) I ain’t dead.
Ronnie James Dio and Mickey Lee Soule stare at each other in disbelief. Ronnie James Dio shakes the bottle in his hand next to his ear.
GD: (more loudly, and with more vexation) Didn’t you hear me, you dicks? I ain’t dead! Now, help me out of here!
RJD: (still incredulous) Sh... should we?
MLS: You know what they say- first sign of madness, and all.
They both mull the concept over, then collectively shrug their shoulders and leap inside the grave to lift up the coffin lid. Gary Driscoll, dressed in a three piece black suit, climbs up out of the coffin and steps onto the grass verge beside it.
GD: (dusting himself off) Christ, that was claustrophobic (smears a finger across his cheek) And that bloody make-up they used to colour me up? Look guys, it’s given me hives! (points to his neck) No respect for the dead, I tell you!
MLS: (stares at Gary Driscoll, aghast) But, you’re supposed to be dead!
GD: (eyes him dangerously) Is that a threat?
RJD: No, not at all, it’s just… Well, we saw you, you know, in the church and stuff. In your coffin.
GD: I know- thank God for Catholicism- otherwise I’d probably have asked to be cremated.
MLS: (points at Gary Driscoll’s surprisingly healthy looking frame) So, um… Why aren’t you? Dead, I mean? We saw your body- you were hit by a drum riser!
GD: I know- thing is, it got me on the head. What with being a drummer, there wasn’t any lasting damage. Ritchie doesn’t know, and I’ll be buggered if I’m going to tell him.
RJD: So, what are you going to do now?
GD: Get as far away from that man as I can- and if you two have any sense, you will an’ all. I know he wants us dead- and Ronnie, I think you’re next. I’d get out while you still can.
Ronnie James Dio and Mickey Lee Soule look pensively at the floor whilst Gary Driscoll proceeds to remove his jacket and tie, wiping his face with the former to remove all his make-up traces. He throws the offending items into the coffin, and slams the lid shut.
GD: Just remember what I said, guys- fight or flight. It’s up to you. Just don’t think Ritchie’s going to let you off for good behaviour, if you get my drift.
Gary Driscoll runs off into the distance, presumably to do a ‘Lord Lucan’, leaving Ronnie James Dio and Mickey Lee Soule to contemplate their fates.
CUT TO:
SCENE ELEVEN: Car Park in the grounds of the studio where rehearsals for the ‘Ritchie Blackmore’s rainbow’ tour-ette are taking place. Ronnie James Dio is sitting glumly on the kerb, alongside Mickey Lee Soule, who is trying to cheer him up.
MLS: Come on, Ronnie, it’s not that bad. I mean, it could be worse.
RJD: (looks at him incredulously) Erm, how?
MLS: We could be strapped to the inside of a fish tank with man-eating piranhas chomping at our nether regions whilst being serenaded by Rene. Or Renata, whichever one was the fat bloke on the balcony with those roses in the video.
RJD: (sinks his head into his hands) And I thought joining up with Ritchie would be a good idea! A fresh start for all of us- a chance to get ourselves known! And now…
MLS: And now, most of us are dead. But be fair, Ron, you weren’t to know. (laughs) If somebody has told me eight months ago that we’d all be working in Ritchie Blackmore’s band, I’d have laughed, and told them they were talking rubbish. Furthermore, if they had gone on to say that Ritchie Blackmore would viciously bump us off one by one in various gruesome ways, I’d similarly have laughed and… (pauses, his expression changes to one of perturbation) No, hang on, I’d have thought they were quite sick in the head, to be honest. But the point is not lost, Ronnie.
RJD: (sighs in resignation) I suppose. Still, not much we can do about it now, is there? We can’t bring them back…
MLS: No- but we can save ourselves.
At this point, a motorbike pulls up in front of them. The sun is directly behind said motorcyclist, causing both Ronnie James Dio and Mickey Lee Soule to shield their eyes with their hands as they look up. The Motorcyclist takes off his helmet- we see it is the new drummer, Cozy Powell (played by Timothy Dalton).
CP: Hello there, the name’s Cozy Powell- I take it from the long hair and the slightly garish shirts you’re in the band with Ritchie? Well, either that or you took a wrong turning when on the way to Las Vegas…
RJD: (bitterly) Yup. The band.
MLS: (equally bitter) True.
CP: (non-plussed) Why are we so glum today?
MLS: Went to a funeral a few days ago.
CP: Oh, I’m sorry to hear that- who’s was it, if you don’t mind my asking?
RJD: The last drummer’s.
CP: (eyebrows collide in surprise) Yikes! (jokingly) Best not get on the wrong side of this guy, hey?
MLS: (looks up at Cozy Powell with a grave expression) More than you’d think, Cozy.
CP: Oh, he doesn’t scare me- (proudly) I’ve worked with Jeff Beck and Donovan.
Ronnie James Dio and Mickey Lee Soule look at each other in horror.
MLS and RLD: (in chorus, impressed, but slightly fearful) Shit!
CP: Well, I’ve got to sign in, I suppose- I’ll see you guys later.
RJD: Erm, yeah, see you.
MLS: Bye!
Once Cozy Powell has departed, Ronnie James Dio and Mickey Lee Soule look at each other with fresh anxiety.
MLS: Christ, Ronnie, I dunno about you, but I’m scared! The last thing we need is a drummer who strikes me as the type who plays solos the length of most concertos.
RJD: (chanting) ‘I must not fear, fear is the mind-killer, fear is the little death that brings total obliteration…
MLS: Ronnie…
RJD:…I will face my fear, I will permit it to pass over me and through me, where the fear has gone, I shall turn the inner eye to see it’s path, when the fear has gone there will be nothing- only I shall remain.’
MLS: (grabs Ronnie James Dio and slaps him across the face) Snap out of it man! Frank Herbert won’t save you now.
RJD: (mumbles) He might.
MLS: (in the manner of a teacher) And do you know why he won’t?
RJD: (surly) Because he didn’t write ‘Dune’ until 1983.
MLS: Good boy.
CUT TO:
SCENE TWELVE: Rehearsal room. The entire band of Ritchie Blackmore, Mickey Lee Soule and Ronnie James Dio are assembled, alongside the two new members. Jimmy Bain, who is currently swigging from the two straws of one of those hats which normally contain cans of beer, but in Jimmy Bain’s case, have been replaced by bottles of Jack Daniels, is present plunking at his bass, as is Cozy Powell, who is impatiently tapping at his drum kit. Ronnie, however, is looking ill once more, and Mickey Lee Soule is clearly haunted by Gary Driscoll’s parting words about the asterisk next to Ronnie James Dio’s name.
JB: Christ, Ronnie, have you eaten something dodgy?
RJD: (white as a sheet, and sweating) Don’t think so.
JB: Drunk anything dodgy?
RJD: Not that I’m aware of.
JB: Smoked anything…
MLS: (snaps) He said no!
JB: Alright, alright, I’m sorry I breathed. (pause) You haven’t been picking the Liberty Caps, have you?
MLS: (angrily) For Christ’s sake Jimmy, shut up! (pauses, then carries on with equal chagrin) And since when did you start speaking more than one random word, anyway?
JB: Since always, it’s just that you ignorant southern bastards never bother to engage me in fucking conversation!
MLS: (folds his arms petulantly) Can’t think why.
RJD: (still pale) Guys, can you please stop fighting? (loses his footing and slips off the makeshift stage. Both Jimmy Bain and Mickey Lee Soule rush to help him up- they are almost fighting over parental responsibility of said singer)
MLS: (to Jimmy Bain) And actually, I’m from Upstate New York, which as I’m sure anybody who’s looked at an atlas in their life will be able to tell you, is fairly northern itself.
JB: It’s not more northern than Scotland!
MLS: And, pray tell why not?
JB: Because nothing’s more northern than Scotland!
CP: What about Greenland?
JB: Bollocks! That got there on a fucking technicality.
MLS: Yes, one commonly known as geography.
RJD: Guys, who gives a shit whether Scotland’s in the North, South or the bloody Moon! (pauses) I think I’m going to hurl (dashes for the door, stops, thinks about it, and dashes back) No I’m not.
CP: Sure about that?
RJD: Yup. I think.
JB: Why are you having these funny turns anyway?
RJD: I dunno- I’ve been having them ever since… I think they started after I first met Ritchie, about ’74.
MLS: (widens his eyes) What?
RJD: About ’74.
MLS: (shakes his head vigorously) No, no, no- the bit before that.
RJD: Hmm? Oh- after I first met Ritchie.
MLS: How soon after?
RJD: I dunno…
MLS: (grabs Ronnie James Dio’s arms and shakes him) Think, God damn it!
RJD Jesus, Mickey, calm down! I dunno, a few days maybe?
Ritchie Blackmore seems somewhat perturbed by this state of events, though he tries to hide it. He succeeds in cloaking his concern from everyone, except Mickey Lee Soule, who scrutinises his features.
RB: Cozy, can I see you for a minute?
CP: Sure.
Ritchie Blackmore and Cozy Powell walk off furtively.
MLS: (to Ronnie James Dio and Jimmy Bain) I’ll be back in a minute.
RJD: Oh, okay.
JB: Ahh, you see- can’t take a proper… proper… oh, I forget. Fuck it Ronnie, are there anymore bottles of spirits left?
RJD: Sure- (cracks open a bottle of Absinthe) Want a glass?
RJD: (rolls up his shirtsleeve and exposes his forearm) Just inject it into my veins!
Mickey Lee Soule follows Cozy Powell and Ritchie Blackmore, but stops at the door of the room they’ve entered. As he presses a glass to the wall and places his ear to its base, he hears fragments of their conversation. The audience sees, through the keyhole, the actions that accompany Mickey Lee Soule’s eavesdropping.
RB: … So you can see my predicament- I want that boy.
CP: Yeah, yeah, yeah... but…
RB: But what?
CP: He isn’t really a boy is he? I mean, technically, he’s older than you are…
RB: (jumps up in frustration) I don’t care about that! He’s small, he can’t be that hard to get!
CP: (leans back in his chair) Then why are you telling me all this?
RB: Because, he’s always got somebody around that gets in the way- mainly his last band.
CP: Why did you agree to co-opt them all into your band, then?
RB: Because, I knew Ronnie would never have agreed to join otherwise. I’ve got rid of most of them- but Mickey’s proving hard. He’s wiley- I both admire it and despise it. (pauses, then, sharply) Well?
CP: (shrugs his shoulders) Well what?
RB: Are you in?
CP: (leans back in his chair) Well, I always say I like to keep an open mind... but not so open that my brain falls out.
RB: (in vexation) Meaning?
CP: Meaning that, seeing as I’m the one with the power in this situation, I’m going to ride it out, and see how I feel nearer the time. You might be able to count on me, you might not. I will say this though- he may be small, but he’s a stubborn little bastard. If I agree, I might be taxed. If I don’t, then I say good luck to you.
RB: (getting up from his chair) When will you give me your answer?
CP: (following suit, staring Ritchie Blackmore straight in the eye) When I feel like it.
Mickey Lee Soule legs it as he hears the door opening, only for Cozy Powell to stride out. However, although he may not have been aware of Mickey Lee Soule’s presence, a certain black-clad guitarist was.
RB: (to himself) Ah ha- I’ll get my hands on you, Soule, mark my words. And it’ll be painful, involving sharp pointy things and lots of gore! (vampiric laugh) Ha- ha –ha –ha –haaaaaaa.
The resonance frequency of such laughter causes one of the beams to collapse and whack him square on the head.
RB: Ouch! (shakes himself off) Fine, have it your way (takes out a straw, like those you get for those gravity defying milkshakes they serve in McDonalds) I’ll just suck out his brains with a straw, like those ancient warriors who used to eat the brains of their victims to gain their strength and qualities! (chortles) I always fancied playing the piano.
MLS: (upon hearing this) Shit! I’d better get out of here!
Mickey Lee Soule runs in the direction of his hotel floor, believing himself to be unseen and therefore safe. However, Ritchie Blackmore follows him back to his hotel room. After a few minutes skulking, he breaks into the room, straw in hand.
RB: (cackles evilly) Lunchtime!
FADE TO:
SCENE THIRTEEN: Mickey Lee Soule’s hotel room. Ronnie James Dio knocks quietly, and upon receiving no answer, enters. Mickey Lee Soule is nowhere to be seen, but there is a rather conspicuous white sheet laid over a nearby chair, which is person shaped and covered in blood. Ronnie James Dio gingerly walks towards it, but is distracted by a video cassette nearby, which has the words ‘play me’ written in what appears to be blood. He picks up said cassette and plays it in the conveniently placed recorder. It is a message from Mickey Lee Soule, who, in case you hadn’t guessed, is currently inhabiting said sheet.
MLS: (on video, holding a cigarette) Hello, Ronnie.
RJD: (looks surprised) How did he know it was me?
MLS: (on video) I’m guessing you’ll be wondering how I knew you’d be the first to watch this…
RJD: (scratches his head) Damn! He knew me better than I thought. (pauses) I wonder if he knew it was me that swiped his packet of Silk Cut?
MLS: (on video) I know, because you’re the only one who’d come back to see me (takes a drag from his ciggie). Only one who understands it all. You’d think that’s because you‘re the last one left from our band, but that’s where you’re wrong, Ronnie. (pauses for dramatic effect) You were the first to go.
RJD: (shock) Wh, what?
MLS: (looks around furtively, like one whose final hour approaches swiftly at the hand of another) I heard his plan, Ronnie. I understand what Gary saw, except Gary got it wrong. The asterisk next to your name didn’t denote your death- it denoted…(starts to tremble) Christ, I haven’t any time. He’s here- I can hear him. I’ve only got time to tell you one last thing…
RJD: (leans closer to the TV) What?
MLS: (takes one final drag on the cigarette, and stubs out the remainder on a nearby pot plant) These are yours (waves packet of ‘Silk Cut’ at camera)- I took them out of your jacket pocket last night. That’ll teach you, you thieving bastard. (laughs, but in a good humoured fashion)
RJD: (awe-struck) Damn, he’s good!
A slamming of a door can be heard on the tape.
MLS: Shit, he’s here- well, so long old buddy. In a way, I feel more sorry for you- at least I’m only going to die an agonising death.
Ritchie appears on the camera, he turns and sees the offending object, and pushes it over, so it is on the floor and on it’s side. All that can be seen is the occasional spurt of blood as Mickey Lee Soule’s protestations can be painfully heard.
MLS: Oh God, no! Get that straw out of my ear!
As various squelchy sound effects are audible, Ronnie James Dio slams the stop button on the video player, unable to take any more. He gently lifts up the sheet, and winces at what he sees, though the audience get no such glimpse. He kisses Mickey Lee Soule on the forehead (or rather, what’s left of it- sorry, you weren’t supposed to see that, were you?), and quietly leaves the room. Shutting the door behind him, he thinks of all the things Mickey Lee Soule has left him; the memories, the keyboard melodies, the record collection- but despite all this, he has just one question flitting through his mind.
RJD: (sotto, to himself as he fingers the deep wound on his neck) What did he mean, I was the first to go?
End of Part One
(wow- dark, scary and with humour… Bet you’re on the edge of your collective seats now!)