“Monkee Mayor” Script

INT. THE PAD

DAVY:
You know, I’m so hungry, I feel as if I haven’t eaten in days.

PETER:
Me too, man; I’m starved.

MICKY:
♪ Oh, dinner time, dinner time ♪

PETER:
Hello, Mrs. Filchok.

MICKY:
???

MRS. FILCHOK:
I’m sorry, boys. I’ll have to be taking back my chairs.

MICKY:
Oh, it’s okay; I always eat on the floor.

MR. SWEZEY:
Sorry to do it on such short notice, fellas, but you know those dishes I loaned ya?

DAVY:
Here you go.

MIKE:
Will somebody please tell me what’s going on here?

PETER:
The silverware too, and the, uh, the Polish mirror, huh?

MICKY:
What is she—be careful, you’re gonna hurt your—

DAVY:
Oh!

MIKE:
Okay, will somebody please tell me what’s going on here?

MRS. HOMER:
Wait a minute.

MICKY:
Can-can I help you?

MRS. HOMER:
Hold this, will you?

MICKY:
I got it. Wait. I got it. I got it.

DAVY:
Micky, now, now steady.

MICKY:
I got it. No. I-I got it.

DAVY:
Mick-Micky, steady!

MICKY:
I don’t got it!

DAVY:
Micky!

MICKY:
I’m sorry, uh, Ms. Homer. Well, your table—

MIKE:
Well, wait a minute. Will somebody please tell me what’s going on here?

MRS. FILCHOK:
Oh, don’t you know? We’ve all been evicted.

MIKE:
We have? Well, well, how did that happen?

MRS. HOMER:
They’re going to tear down our homes and build a parking lot.

MRS. FILCHOK:
They started blasting on my block.

MR. SWEZEY:
On my door where it says, “Welcome” will be a sign: “Seventy-five cents an hour”.

PETER:
That’s terrible! Even downtown, it’s only fifty.

MIKE:
Just what I thought, man. They can’t throw you out; it violates every zoning regulation.

DAVY:
Are you sure, Mike?

MIKE:
Well, of course I’m sure, man. You don’t have to worry about them tearing down anything. They can’t throw you out. I’m positive—

“(Theme From) The Monkees”

INT. MAYOR’S OFFICE - RECEPTION

MIKE:
Um, he-hello. Uh, hello. Would you, uh, mind telling the mayor that Michael Nesmith, private citizen, is here to see him, please?

SECRETARY:
Well, what is it in reference to private citizen, Michael Nesmith?

MIKE:
Well, you see, there’s a lot of innocent people, uh, being just thrown out of their houses by this parking lot that the city’s building, and I’d like to talk to him about it if I could.

SECRETARY:
Aw, complain?

MIKE:
Well, yeah, sort of.

SECRETARY:
Right through that door.

MIKE:
Oh, thank you.

INT. MAYOR’S OFFICE - RECEPTION

MIKE:
Now, now, look here. I want to see Mayor Motley, please.

SECRETARY:
Right that way.

MIKE:
Oh, thank you. Ooh!

INT. MAYOR’S OFFICE - RECEPTION

MIKE:
Alright! Now, look here, I’m about up to here with this stuff, and-and if I don’t get some satisfaction, I’m gonna take this whole thing, and I’m gonna dump it in the opposing party’s lap.

MOTLEY:
My boy!

MIKE:
Ah!

MOTLEY:
Now what seems to be your problem?

MIKE:
Uh, uh, hm, hello, Mayor Motley. My name is M-Mike Nesmith, and, uh, I’d like to talk to you a-about this new parking lot that you—

MOTLEY:
I’m, uh, sorry, Nesmeyer, but I don’t hire any construction workers.

MIKE:
Uh, no, you don’t understand. Look, there are a lot of innocent people, and you’re just throwing them outta their homes.

MOTLEY:
Oh, now then, Neswash—

MIKE:
Nesmith.

MOTLEY:
Our country was settled in sixteen hundred and twelve—

MIKE:
Well, I know that—

MOTLEY:
From across the shores. From across the shores, the pilgrims landed—

MIKE:
Yes.

MOTLEY:
—and found Indians.

MIKE:
Yeah—

MOTLEY:
Luckily, they moved those Indians.

MIKE:
Well—

MOTLEY:
Why, throwing people out of their homes is the American way!

MIKE:
Huh?

MOTLEY:
Then we are in total agreement.

MIKE:
Well—

MOTLEY:
And, Nesbaum, I wanna thank you as one good American to another for enlightening me as to your opinion.

MIKE:
Well. Yes. Yes, sir. Certainly.

MOTLEY:
Not at all. Not at all. My dear.

INT. MAYOR’S OFFICE

ZECKENBUSH:
By the end of the year, we’ll have the entire city ringed with parking lots.

MOTLEY:
What, the whole area, Mr. Zeckenbush?

ZECKENBUSH:
That way, no one will be able to come in or to go out without paying us a toll.

MOTLEY:
Oh, but, Mr. Zeckenbush, that would mean tearing down museums, schools, hospitals.

ZECKENBUSH:
You can’t stand in the way of progress.

MOTLEY:
Huh? Oh, yes, Mr. Zeckenbush. Yes, sir!

INT. THE PAD

MIKE:
Well, I tried to get in there and talk to him, but he wouldn’t—well, he talked to me, I suppose—

MR. SWEZEY:
That’s alright, Mike. You can’t fight city hall.

MIKE:
Where did all these people come from?

DAVY:
Well, I told them they could stay until-until they find new places.

MIKE:
Oh, well, I suppose it’s, uh, alright. Just as long as they don’t—

MRS. FILCHOK:
Mind if I pass through?

MIKE:
It’s alright.

MRS. FILCHOK:
Well, may I leave this to dry?

MIKE:
I suppose.

DAVY:
No, no. This is the living room.

MIKE:
As long as they don’t get in the way.

INT. THE PAD

MIKE:
Oh, man. The more I think about this whole parking lot thing, the more I think we gotta do something about it.

DAVY:
How come?

MIKE:
How—well, because we don’t want a dictatorial government running this city, and the rights of an individual citizen have got to be respected.

MICKY:
Right, yeah.

MIKE:
And because we gotta get all these people outta our house.

MICKY:
Look, man. If we’re gonna get rid of these parking lots, we first have to get rid of the mayor, and now, you know there’s only one solution to that. Right?

DAVY:
Right.

PETER:
Right.

MIKE:
What’s right?

MICKY:
You’re right, and not only that, you’re absolutely perfect.

MIKE:
Right? Right for—what are you talking about? For what?

MICKY:
For mayor. Run for mayor.

MIKE:
Why me?

MICKY:
Because you’re the only one with a hat to throw in the ring. Where’s your hat?

MIKE:
Where’s my hat? I don’t know.

MICKY:
Oh, there’s your hat. In the ring, ha ha.

INT. THE PAD

MICKY [on the phone]:
Hello, Mayor Motley. Uh-huh. This is Micky Dolenz, Mike Nesmith’s Monkee campaign manager.

INT. MAYOR’S OFFICE

MOTLEY [on the phone]:
What campaign?

INT. THE PAD

MICKY [on the phone]:
Right, campaign manager. We’ll be seeing you at the polls Thursday. Bye.

INT. MAYOR’S OFFICE

MOTLEY [on the phone]:
What?

INT. MAYOR’S OFFICE

MOTLEY:
Do you think he’s got a chance?

ZECKENBUSH:
According to the democratic system of this city, anybody’s got a chance… if I own him. Do I own him?

MOTLEY:
No, you own me.

ZECKENBUSH:
Then he hasn’t got a chance.

MOTLEY:
Oh. Good. Good. Heh heh.

INT. THE PAD

MICKY:
Wah! First order of business is to get an image for our candidate.

MIKE:
I can’t tell a lie. It was I who cut down this here cherry tree with this here hatchet. It was me, Crazy George.

DAVY:
Too honest. Nobody would ever think of him as mayor.

MIKE:
What do you mean too honest? How can you be too—

MICKY:
Ah, who’s this bearded weirdo?

MIKE:
With malice towards none, and charity for all.

DAVY:
Very nice, very nice indeed, but he doesn’t have the looks.

MICKY:
Well, how about if we shave him?

DAVY:
No. Wouldn’t help, wouldn’t help.

MIKE:
And so, until this crisis is over, I will hunker down like a jackass in a hailstorm, dot, dot, dot.

DAVY:
Oh, Mike, that’s terrible; no politician would ever say a thing like that.

MIKE:
??? Everybody has a…

MICKY:
That’s it! That’s perfect! Hm, that little wave of hair, the little green hat sitting casually cocked on his head.

DAVY:
You’re right, and it has a certain comfortable and familiar feeling about it too.

MICKY:
And now, I present to you, the candidate and his campaign manager, his aide de camp, and his campy-aide. And now, it’s time to launch the campaign.

DAVY, MICKY, MIKE:
Ah!

MICKY:
Wait, no! Uh, he’s not, he’s not a ship.

PETER:
Not a ship?

MICKY:
No.

PETER:
The S.S. Mike Nesmith.

MICKY:
S.S… Launch the campaign.

DAVY:
Okay, let’s launch him. Ready?

MICKY:
Ten.

DAVY, PETER:
Nine.

MICKY:
Eight.

PETER:
Eight.

MICKY:
Seven.

DAVY:
Seven.

PETER:
Six four. Three.

MICKY:
Six five.

DAVY:
Six.

MICKY:
Two.

DAVY:
I’m six.

MICKY:
Fire!

“No Time”

INT. THE PAD

PETER:
Well, here we are home, same as usual.

DAVY:
Hey, who could have done all that? The maid?

MICKY:
Wasn’t the cleaning lady; she only comes on the second Thursday of every month with an R in it.

MRS. FILCHOK:
Two men came in here and tore the place apart.

MR. SWEZEY:
I’d have stopped them, but they said they were redecorating.

DAVY:
Hey, Mike, look at this. Someone’s been drawing mustaches all over your pictures.

MICKY:
Hey, well, it’s not really that bad. Little gray on the temple, though.

MIKE:
You know, I’ll bet you it was some goons from Mayor Motley’s office.

PETER:
I’ll bet it was political sabatooge.

DAVY:
How do you know that?

PETER:
I’m not a campy-aide for nothing.

DAVY:
Oh.

MICKY:
Why would they want to sabatooge us?

MIKE:
Well, I don’t know. Unless maybe they had something to hide, and if they did have something to hide, I’ll bet you we could find out what it is.

DAVY:
That’s true.

INT. MAYOR’S OFFICE

DAVY:
You know, you’d think at three in the afternoon, there’d be somebody at city hall.

MICKY:
Maybe they’re on their coffee break.

PETER:
How long’s their coffee break?

MIKE:
It’s from nine to five.

MICKY:
Right.

PETER:
Oh, I see. Ha ha ha.

MICKY:
Hey, Pete, what’s in the closet? Dah!

MIKE:
Old politicians never die; they just rot away.

MICKY:
Just what we’re looking for. Aha! Here’s the key open to the file.

MIKE:
How do you know that key will open the file?

MICKY:
It’s a skeleton key.

MICKY, MIKE:
Ha ha ha.

DAVY:
Oh, oh, fellas. Here it is. It’s what we’ve been looking for.

MICKY:
What is it?

DAVY:
It’s-it’s a master plan to turn the city into parking lots.

MIKE:
Hey, they’re gonna tear down a stadium and build a parking lot.

MICKY:
They’re gonna tear down a hospital to build a parking lot.

PETER:
And here’s the kicker.

DAVY, MICKY, MIKE, PETER:
They’re gonna tear down a parking lot to build a parking lot.

PETER:
How did you guys know?

MIKE:
Well, that’s the oldest joke in the world.

DAVY:
We’d better hurry. Who’s got the camera?

MIKE:
Okay, quick. Snap a picture of the file, and let’s get outta here.

MICKY:
Ooh!

MIKE:
Okay, quick. Let’s ???

MICKY:
Ready?

MOTLEY:
Mr. Zeckenbush, you do that…

MICKY:
What do we do?

MIKE:
Uh, in the closet, quick.

MICKY:
…some consideration, sir. I’m sure you won’t regret it. If you just consider—

ZECKENBUSH:
Well, if it make you feel any better, I’ll get the file outta here.

MOTLEY:
Oh, thank you, Mr. Zeckenbush. Thank you, sir.

ZECKENBUSH:
Thank you.

MICKY:
Skip it.

ZECKENBUSH:
You know, old mayor Thompson looks better; he seems to have filled out a little bit.

MOTLEY:
Well, you know what they say, sir: “Old politicians never die; they just rot away.” Ha ha ha.

ZECKENBUSH:
Whose is this?

MOTLEY:
I’ll bet it’s those Monkees! Maybe they’ve seen the files.

ZECKENBUSH:
So, that Mike Nesmith wants to play rough, eh? I guess he doesn’t know who’s the boss around this town. When I’ll finish with him, I’ll break him in two.

INT. THE PAD

PETER:
Alright, here it is, guys: the picture that’s gonna make Mike Nesmith mayor.

MICKY:
That’s the wrong—Peter—

MIKE:
What did you do?

PETER:
Well, I just took a thirty-five isocentric lens with a reflex hober on the, uh, uh—

MICKY:
No, no, Pete, Pete, Pete. What happened to the picture of the evidence?

PETER:
When you guys, when you’re the photographer, you can take pictures of what you want to take pictures of. When I’m the photographer, I’ll take pictures of what I want to take… you guys can be the photographer. You guys wanna be the, you, you guys… Hey, I’m, I’m sorry, guys.

INT. MAYOR’S OFFICE

ZECKENBUSH:
No word about the evidence yet. That Nesmith is clever. He’s trying to play a waiting game.

SECRETARY:
We’ve checked into every detail of Nesmith’s life.

ZECKENBUSH:
Good, what’d you find?

SECRETARY:
Nothing.

ZECKENBUSH:
Nothing?

SECRETARY:
He’s had a nothing life. No arrests, no firings. He even brushes his teeth three times a day.

ZECKENBUSH:
Resort to plan W.

INT. THE PAD

DAVY:
Well, no campaign funds, no evidence. We might as well quit the race.

PETER:
Maybe we could have a hundred dollar a plate testimonial dinner.

MIKE:
Are you kidding? Who do we know could pay a hundred dollars a plate for dinner?

PETER:
Well, maybe we could mark it down to ninety-eight cents.

MICKY:
Hey, have you guys been writing a lot of mail?

DAVY:
Hey, look at that.

PETER:
Hey, lookit, it’s a half a check for a hundred dollars!

MIKE:
Give me that. It’s two halves of a hundred dollar check!

PETER:
It’s a check for two hundred dollars! It’s two checks for fifty dollars?

MICKY:
Here’s another one for, uh, two, two hundred.

DAVY:
Hey, look! Here’s another one.

MICKY:
No, it’s another one.

DAVY:
They’re all over the place.

PETER:
Maybe we should sweep up.

MICKY:
No. Wait. This is it, Mike! This is it! It’s those thousands of little people sending in their nickels, dimes, and quarters.

MIKE:
But these checks are for hundreds and, and thousands!

MICKY:
This is it, Mike, it’s those thousands of big people sending their hundreds and thousands.

DAVY:
Hey, what we gonna do with all this money?

MICKY:
It’s two days to election; we can blow this town wide open!

MIKE:
Micky, the town already is wide open, man; that’s what we’re trying to change.

MICKY:
It’s two days to election; we can blow this town wide closed!

INT. NEWSPAPER OFFICE

MICKY:
Stop the presses.

PUBLISHER:
We can’t stop the presses.

MICKY:
Now let me speak to the head of the newspaper.

PUBLISHER:
The president of the typesetters union is not here today; I am just the publisher.

MICKY:
I want this picture along with the time and channel of the TV station on the front page of your newspaper.

PUBLISHER:
Well, yeah. Oh. Ha ha.

INT. SKYWRITER’S OFFICE

SKYWRITER:
We can put his name across the entire sky.

PETER:
We want bigger than that. We wanna see “Nesmith” up there in the sky—

SKYWRITER:
Okay.

PETER:
—with the sun dotting the I.

INT. WXIU-TV STUDIO

DAVY:
Hey, man. Dig.

INT. NEWSPAPER OFFICE

MICKY:
I want an editorial comparing him to Lincoln.

PUBLISHER:
Editorial.

INT. SKYWRITER’S OFFICE

PETER:
And have all the commercial airlines re-routed; I don’t want anybody spoiling the view.

SKYWRITER:
Yes, sir.

INT. WXIU-TV STUDIO

DAVY:
Okay, dolly in on number one.

INT. NEWSPAPER OFFICE

MICKY:
A comic strip based on his exploits.

PUBLISHER:
Yes.

INT. SKYWRITER’S OFFICE

SKYWRITER:
I’ll fly the plane myself.

PETER:
Not good enough!

INT. NEWSPAPER OFFICE

MICKY:
And a fashion column on his hat.

PUBLISHER:
Anything you say. I’ll, um.

INT. SKYWRITER’S OFFICE

PETER:
We want Lindbergh.

SKYWRITER:
Lindbergh it is, sir.

INT. WXIU-TV STUDIO

DAVY:
Now, listen. When he says, “I accuse,” zoom, baby, zoom.

INT. SKYWRITER’S OFFICE

PETER:
On second thought, give me Rickenbacker; his penmanship’s better.

SKYWRITER:
Hm, he may be right.

INT. WXIU-TV STUDIO

DAVY:
Do you dig it?

CAMERA MAN:
I can dig it.

DAVY:
Okay. Groovy.

INT. NEWSPAPER OFFICE

MICKY:
That’s not bad, but, uh, I’ll tear this part off here. Replace it with the time and channel of the TV station. Oh, one other thing. Here’s a little bit.

INT. THE PAD

DAVY:
Don’t worry.

MICKY:
Everything will be okay.

DAVY:
Mike.

PETER:
You’ll be alright.

MICKY:
TV shows are easy.

DAVY:
Robert M.

PETER:
You’ll be alright.

DAVY:
Don’t worry.

MICKY:
Zeckenbush is—

ZECKENBUSH:
Nesmith. I’m Wilbur Zeckenbush.

DAVY:
Zeckenbush!

MIKE:
So you’re, uh, well, uh, I’d like, um, I think you’d better know, Mr. Zeckenbush that I’m going on television tonight and expose you and your whole racket.

ZECKENBUSH:
How can you do that when your entire campaign is financed by me.

MIKE:
Oh, give me a break, man.

DAVY:
That’s—

MICKY:
No.

MIKE:
I didn’t take any money from you.

ZECKENBUSH:
No, but you took money from people who work for me, and I got the canceled checks to prove it.

PETER:
He’s putting you on.

MIKE:
Yeah, well, I… guess maybe I wasn’t as persuasive as, as I thought, heh.

ZECKENBUSH:
Quit while you can, Nesmith. If you withdraw, I’ll leave you alone, but if you don’t, I’ll get you and your friends.

DAVY:
He-he-he-he can’t do a thing like that.

MIKE:
He might be able to.

DAVY:
No, he couldn’t. He-he couldn’t do that.

PETER:
No, he can’t. It’s alright. He’s a phony.

INT. WXIU-TV STUDIO

CAMERA MAN:
Stand by, Mr. Nesmith.

MICKY:
Come on, Mike. You can’t give up now.

DAVY:
No, man, you can’t stop a-after all that you’ve done, you know.

MIKE:
Yeah, well, you guys have worked awful hard.

CAMERA MAN:
Ten seconds, Mr. Nesmith.

PETER:
Think of a cause, man. Mike, all those people.

DAVY:
Yeah, you know, it’s important.

MIKE:
Yeah, I’ve been thinking about them a lot.

CAMERA MAN:
Stand by. Five seconds, Mr. Nesmith.

PETER:
Good luck, man.

DAVY:
Take it easy. Your tie’s okay. Don’t be nervous.

MIKE:
Okay.

DAVY:
Don’t be nervous. Take it easy, Mike.

MIKE:
Uh, hello. Uh, my name is Michael Nesmith, and as most of you know, I’ve been running for, uh, as an independent candidate for the mayor of the city. And, um, politics is a, is a real interesting game, but it’s a dirty one too I-I found out, and I don’t guess I’m tough enough to play that game. Um, in the beginning, when-when I, when I started all this, I sort of wanted to do something for the city, uh, well, because, uh, uh. Well, you see, Mrs-Mrs. Fil—oh, you don’t know who Mrs. Filchok is, but, uh. There are, are some people in this town, uh, who are, who are the little people, and… Well, no, they’re not the little people. What I, what I mean to say is, is that, there are, there are some people in this town without power, and, um, they’re people like my next door neighbors, and what I wanted to do was to go down to city hall and make their voice be heard, because I didn’t think that it was right just because they didn’t have any power that nobody would listen to them. Well, um, I suppose that was a noble enough motive, but, uh, somehow in doing that, I-I got sucked up in the very forces that I was trying to conquer. Well, um, the newspaper ads and the skywriting and this television show, as much as I hate to say it, were all financed by funds that I got from an improper source. I-I didn’t know they were improper. I don’t suppose that’s any excuse, but if I can be tricked like that, then I-I don’t guess I’m, I’m smart enough to be your mayor, so I’d like to take this opportunity to announce my withdrawal from the race—

MOTLEY:
Mr. Nesmith?

MIKE:
Nishwash.

MOTLEY:
You’re right. That’s the way city hall usually is run, except when one man’s honesty throws sand in the machinery. I promise you and all our citizens that from now on, our city will be a cleaner and more personal place to live.

INT. THE PAD

MR. SWEZEY:
Thank you, boys.

MICKY:
Oh, you’re welcome.

MIKE:
That’s okay. You’re welcome back.

DAVY:
Thank you. Buh-bye. Buh-bye.

MRS. HOMER:
We appreciate it. We had a wonderful time.

DAVY:
See you soon.

MR. SWEZEY:
Take care of things.

MRS. HOMER:
Bye!

MIKE:
Bye.

MRS. FILCHOK:
Thank you for everything.

DAVY:
Take care.

PETER:
Nice to have you.

DAVY:
Well, I think that worked out perfect, didn’t it?

MIKE:
Yeah, it’s alright. Zeckenbush is in jail.

PETER:
Ha.

MIKE:
And I’ll won’t have to be leaving the group.

PETER:
Hurray.

MICKY:
Ah.

MIKE:
And, uh, most important, the mayor promised not to put up the parking lot over their houses.

DAVY:
Oh, really?

MIKE:
Yeah.

PETER:
It’s really great. Everything is just dandy.

MICKY:
Hey, I wonder where they are gonna put up that parking lot.

MIKE:
Oh, who knows, man, but it certainly isn’t anything for us to worry about.

DAVY:
Ha ha ha.

[A wrecking ball comes through the ceiling.]

DAVY:
That’s charming, that is, right in the middle of the living room.

MICKY:
It’s a watch fob for the Jolly Green Giant.

MIKE:
Oh, that’s funny.

DAVY:
Very funny. A what? A what?

MICKY:
He said it was funny.

MIKE:
It’s a watch fob for a giant.

MICKY:
Oh, okay. It’s a watch fob for a giant!

“Pleasant Valley Sunday”