“Your Friendly Neighborhood Kidnappers” Script

Teaser

INT. BAND CONTEST - BACKSTAGE

DAVY:
Aren’t we supposed to go on after The Four Swine?

MICKY:
Man, I wouldn’t go on anywhere after those guys; they’re really seedy.

PETER:
Oh, that’s only on the surface; I’ll bet underneath that seemingly hard exterior, there’s four pretty decent guys.

INT. BAND CONTEST - STAGE

SWINE:
♪ Yeah! ♪

CONTEST MANAGER:
That was The Four Swine. Underneath their seemingly hard exterior, there are four pretty decent guys.

INT. BAND CONTEST - BACKSTAGE

SWINE:
Well, look who’s here, Monkees! Heh! Ah ah ah ah!

MICKY:
You’re a great judge of character.

INT. BAND CONTEST - STAGE

CONTEST MANAGER:
And now, the last group of the contest, The Monkees!

[The crowd cheers.]

INT. BAND CONTEST - BACKSTAGE

TRUMP:
Eh, you guys would be lost without a manager. Now wait for my signal.

MIKE (O.S.):
One, two, three.

INT. BAND CONTEST - STAGE

PETER:
Hey, is that the way we rehearsed it?

“(Theme From) The Monkees”

Act One

INT. THE PAD

TRUMP:
Trump’s the name. Nick Trump. Congratulations. You made the finals!

MIKE:
You’re putting us on!

TRUMP:
Well, like, man, you know, the judges dug Beethoven.

PETER:
Yay! What about The Four Swine?

TRUMP:
The Four Swine?

PETER:
Yeah.

TRUMP:
Oh, yeah. They made it too.

DAVY, MICKY, MIKE, PETER:
Boo.

TRUMP:
Don’t worry, the officials have assigned Nick Trump to get you publicity; you’re a shoo-in!

MIKE:
Publicity? No, thanks.

TRUMP:
Don’t you wanna be famous, the idol of millions?

DAVY:
No, we just wanna be revered by a small minority.

TRUMP:
A small minority?

MICKY:
Small minority, small minority. Ha ha! Like a tribe of African pygmies! Get it? Pygmies! Ha! Hm. Small minority.

TRUMP:
That’s ridiculous. Hey. What are you doing? Mixing a drink?

PETER:
No, I’m just washing my socks.

TRUMP:
Now, listen. Without publicity, no one will ever hear of you.

MIKE:
Well, you heard of us, didn’t you?

TRUMP:
Well, yeah.

MIKE:
Yeah, okay, then we don’t need publicity.

DAVY:
Besides, we’ve gotta rehearse.

TRUMP:
Fellas, fellas, part of the contest rules. Every applicant must submit to exploitation and publicity, right?

DAVY, MICKY, MIKE, PETER:
Right.

TRUMP:
Beautiful, baby. Now, here’s my plan. You go to the new discotheque, huh? The Vincent Van Gogh-Gogh.

INT. VINCENT VAN GOGH-GOGH

TRUMP (V.O.):
As soon as you get in, go to table number three in the corner. Be careful that you don’t bump into table number two. At exactly eight o’clock, I’ve arranged for a group of screaming teenage girls to come in there, rip off all of Davy’s clothes.

DAVY:
Hey, Mike. What time is it?

MIKE:
Huh? Oh, it’s, uh, three minutes to eight.

WAITRESS:
May I take your order now?

MICKY:
Oh, nothing for us, thanks; we just came in to have our clothes ripped off.

WAITRESS:
Very funny.

DAVY:
Mike, how long to go?

MICKY:
Control tower to X-seventeen. Prepare for countdown.

MIKE:
Hello, control, this is X-seventeen. I’m awaiting your instruction.

MICKY:
Ready? Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. Blast off!

[A group of girls start screaming.]

INT. THE PAD

MICKY:
Today, Lester Crabtree, menswear buyer for Wiley’s department store in Passaic, New Jersey, had his clothes ripped off in a local Hollywood nightspot. Mr. Crabtree was quoted as saying, “You’ve got a wild little town here.”

DAVY:
Well, you were right about one thing; it got loads of publicity.

TRUMP:
Forget it! I got another plan.

MIKE:
Oh, yeah? You got another plan? What are you planning this time, a famine?

TRUMP:
Not bad, baby. This time you’re gonna get your handprints in cement like all the other celebrities in front of the Chinese theater.

EXT. CHINESE THEATER

TRUMP:
Beautiful. Beautiful, baby. Huh?

INT. THE PAD

TRUMP:
Fellas, I had to pay for the sidewalk. Now, fun is fun.

PETER:
I’m sorry, Mr. Trump.

MICKY:
Careful! I may never play the guitar again!

DAVY:
But you’re the drummer.

MICKY:
Oh, that’s right. Okay, go ahead. Ah! Thanks a lot.

TRUMP:
Now, I’m warning you. Giving you one last chance. One more foul-up, and I drop you.

DAVY:
Yes, sir. Uh! Thanks.

TRUMP:
You’ve ever been, uh, kidnapped?

MIKE:
Um, no. Any of you guys?

MICKY:
I was kidnapped when I was a kid once, but my family was so poor that they gave the ransom note to the neighbors. Ha ha ha.

PETER:
Hey, a kidnapping. What kind, Mr. Trump?

TRUMP:
A really front page affair, sweetheart. Of course, you won’t really be kidnapped, you know. You’ll just be held ’til moments before the contest.

MIKE:
Hey, no, man, I’m sorry. A kidnapping is—

TRUMP:
Contest rules. Rules!

MIKE:
Well, man, I don’t know.

TRUMP:
Look, I’ll tell you what to do. Think it over.

MIKE:
Um, a kidnapping, man.

TRUMP:
I promise, if this doesn’t work, we forget the whole thing. Talk it over. Go ahead, go, go. Discuss it.

DAVY, MICKY, MIKE, PETER:
[mumbling, rhubarb rhubarb]

MICKY:
Well.

MIKE:
Okay, babe.

TRUMP:
Great! Beautiful. Beautiful! Great! I know just who to get; two actor clients of mine, they play great hoods. You’ll love ’em.

INT. BANK

HORACE:
Oh, hello, Trump. What’s that? A kidnap? How many in the party? Four? Oh, I couldn’t touch it for under a thousand apiece. Who are you calling a thief?! Are you kidding? Three fifty? I wouldn’t—that’s unheard of. What’s that? Three sixty? You got yourself a deal.

INT. THE PAD

TRUMP:
Alright. Goodbye. Goodbye. Well, baby, it’s all set. They’re gonna be here in about an hour.

MICKY:
Well, how should we dress for this thing. Is it formal?

TRUMP:
Of course. Dress. Dress!

DAVY:
Black tie or white tie?

TRUMP:
For a daytime kidnapping? Black tie.

MIKE:
Hey, what about the newspaper men?

TRUMP:
They wear business suits.

MIKE:
No, I mean—are you sure they’re gonna cover this?

TRUMP:
Believe me, baby. By tonight, you boys are gonna all over the front page! You’re gonna be celebrities! Celebrities!

MICKY:
I’m gonna be a star!

INT. THE PAD

MIKE:
Well, I guess we better go get dressed for the kidnapping.

MIKE:
No, Peter.

MICKY:
No, Peter.

DAVY:
Yes, Peter.

INT. THE PAD

MIKE:
You know, it’s getting late, man; I wish Davy’d come on.

MICKY:
Never mind Davy. Where’s Trump’s actors? They should be here by now, man.

PETER:
If it’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s late kidnappers.

MICKY:
Right. Mike, why don’t you call ’em?

MIKE:
Whaddaya, call ’em? I should just walk over to the telephone, pick up, and not even dial, all I gotta do is say—

MIKE [on the phone]:
Hello?

MICKY [on the phone]:
Hello. ???, kidnappers.

MIKE [on the phone]:
Hello. This is Mr. Nesmith. Say, are the kidnappers in?

MICKY [on the phone]:
No, I’m sorry, the kidnappers are out right now; this is their answering service.

MIKE [on the phone]:
Yeah, well, look, we’re supposed to be kidnapped today.

MICKY [on the phone]:
Oh, yes, Mr. Nesmith. Two o’clock kidnapping, I have it right here in the schedule. Well, I’m sorry, the kidnappers are very behind schedule. You see, this is our busy season, just before the holidays.

MIKE:
Oh, well, then, maybe we ought to wait ’til after the holidays.

MICKY [on the phone]:
No. I’m afraid that won’t do. You see, after the holidays, they’re very busy with exchanges.

MIKE [on the phone]:
Oh. Okay.

MICKY, MIKE:
We wait.

INT. 1444 BEECHWOOD

HORACE:
Okay, you dirty rats, drop everything and reach for the sky. Isn’t this thirteen-thirty-four Beechwood?

OLD WOMAN:
No, this is fourteen-thirty-four. Thirteen-thirty-four is down the road a bit.

HORACE:
We’re terribly sorry to bother you.

OLD WOMAN:
Oh, no bother at all.

HORACE:
Say goodbye, George.

GEORGE:
Goodbye.

OLD WOMAN:
Bye-bye. Such a nice young man. We should have asked him to stay for tea.

INT. THE PAD

HORACE:
Oh, excuse me.

MIKE:
Mm-hm?

HORACE:
Is this thirteen-thirty-four Beechwood?

MIKE:
Right.

HORACE:
Thank you, young man.

MIKE:
Yeah.

HORACE:
Okay, you dirty rats, drop everything and reach for the sky.

INT. THE PAD

HORACE:
George, what is this? This is no person; this is the dummy!

GEORGE:
Oh, yeah. I thought he had a kind of stupid, wooden expression.

HORACE:
Not that dummy, dummy! This dummy. Never mind. Where’s the fourth kid?

GEORGE:
I’ll find out, Horace. Okay, you guys, I want some straight answers, and I want ’em fast! Where’s your buddy? Okay, if you won’t tell, I’ll—

MICKY, MIKE, PETER:
[mumbling]

HORACE:
George, maybe if you took off their gags.

GEORGE:
Oh yeah.

PETER:
Davy is with a girlfriend at the Vincent Van Gogh-Gogh.

HORACE:
Go. Let’s go pick him up. Go ahead.

GEORGE:
Horace, I can’t do those crazy dances.

HORACE:
There’s nothing to it; it’s just rhythm. Now, watch me. A-one, two, three. One, two, three. Rhythm. Try it. Try it.

GEORGE:
One, two, one.

HORACE:
Beautiful. Beautiful.

INT. VINCENT VAN GOGH-GOGH

GEORGE:
Davy Jones? Excuse me, sonny, are you Davy Jones?

DAVY:
Yeah. That’s right.

GEORGE:
You’re coming with me, buster!

DAVY:
Oh, you must be the actor Mr. Trump sent.

GEORGE:
I’m warning you, you better come peaceful like.

DAVY:
I’ll tell you what, wait ’til the end of this song. Why don’t you stick around and try and look inconspicuous? Hey, man, forget it. Let’s go. Come on.

GIRLFRIEND:
Hey!

DAVY:
What?

GIRLFRIEND:
Where are you two going?

DAVY:
I’m going home to get kidnapped.

GIRLFRIEND:
Well, I wanna come too.

DAVY:
Okay.

GIRLFRIEND:
Come on, everybody, party at Davy’s place!

INT. THE PAD

DAVY:
Hi, fellas.

MICKY, PETER:
Hey, Davy.

MIKE:
Hi, Davy. What’s happening?

HORACE:
Hey, I see you got him.

GEORGE:
Yeah, but, Horace!

HORACE:
Not now, I’m busy.

GEORGE:
But, Horace!

HORACE:
What’s the matter? What’s the matter?

GEORGE:
He wasn’t alone!

HORACE:
So, alright. You had to pick up a friend. Bring her in.

GEORGE:
Okay, Horace.

“Let’s Dance On”

HORACE:
Tie ’em all up. I better go call up Trump. Excuse me, kids. Will you let me get through; I gotta make a very important call. Go dance someplace else. Hello? Hello, Trump? We had to nab a couple of extra kids. Yeah, we’ll need a little more money for the job. Kids, will you let me alone? This is business! Oh! Didn’t need all this! I don’t know how many. A few extra. Let’s see, at three hundred and sixty bucks apiece, I would say about twelve thousand dollars. Yeah, Trump.

GIRLFRIEND:
Come on, you guys. This is where it’s at!

HORACE:
Oh, now wait a minute!

DAVY:
Hey, don’t get so excited; they brought their own pretzels.

Act Two

INT. THE PAD

“(I’m Not Your) Steppin’ Stone”

HORACE:
Mr. Trump. I got the new revised figures here. With thirty-eight people, there’s nineteen thousand four hundred and twenty dollars.

INT. BAND CONTEST - BACKSTAGE

TRUMP:
Now, now, look, Horace, I’m coming over.

INT. THE PAD

HORACE:
No, no, don’t come over!

INT. BAND CONTEST - BACKSTAGE

TRUMP:
Why not?

INT. THE PAD

HORACE:
You can’t get in without a reservation!

OLD WOMAN:
Oh, there you are, young man. I brought you some nice hot tea.

HORACE:
Thank you, my dear lady. George? Tie ’em up. Trump?

INT. BAND CONTEST - BACKSTAGE

TRUMP:
Now, look, Horace, this is very un-businesslike. I asked you to snatch a quartet, and you end up with a choir.

INT. THE PAD

GIRLFRIEND:
Hey, this dance is a gas! What do you call it?

DAVY:
What else? The Kidnap.

HORACE:
George, we’ve gotta get these kids outta there.

GEORGE:
Yeah. I don’t wanna write no forty ransom notes.

DAVY:
Hey, man, I can empty this place for you in two minutes. Just wait at the door, will ya?

INT. THE PAD

MICKY:
Come on, Trump. Tell your actors to put away these toy guns, man. The show is over.

MIKE:
Yeah, man. We’ve gotta make it to the contest in a half hour.

TRUMP:
You punks ain’t going nowhere.

DAVY:
Hey, what’s going on? That gun’s beginning to look real.

TRUMP:
Heh heh heh. It is. Keep ’em here ’til eight o’clock, and don’t let ’em outta your sight.

PETER:
Hey, where are you going?

TRUMP:
I’m gonna watch my clients, The Four Swine, win the contest. Be sure and keep ’em locked in, because if they get out before eight o’clock, sweetheart, the deal is off.

HORACE:
George, lock the boys up in the bedroom.

GEORGE:
I’m gonna lock ’em up in the bedroom. Move! Move!

MICKY:
Guys.

INT. THE PAD - DOWNSTAIRS BEDROOM

DAVY:
It should be easy to get out of a locked room; I’ve seen it in dozens of movies.

MICKY:
I think I got an idea.

MIKE:
What, what, what, what, what?

MICKY:
I can’t think with this bulb hanging over my head. Thank you. We’ll throw something out of the window to attract a passerby.

DAVY:
Great idea.

MIKE:
Yeah, well, what do we throw?

PETER:
We better hurry; it’s seven thirty-five.

MICKY:
Peter!

MIKE:
Come on, just—oh, wait a minute, he’s too limp. He’s gotta be stiff.

MICKY:
Hm, Peter, you’re stiff!

DAVY:
Ready?

DAVY, MICKY, MIKE:
One, two—

DAVY:
Hold it. Hold it! Hey, this is very thoughtless of us, you know.

MIKE:
Why?

DAVY:
He might land on somebody.

MICKY:
Oh!

DAVY:
Come on, stand him up.

MICKY:
Oh, okay, Peter. Hm, you’re not stiff!

PETER:
Thanks, Mick. And it’s seven thirty-seven.

INT. THE PAD - DOWNSTAIRS BEDROOM

MICKY:
Hold the end of this, and we’ll lower ourselves to the ground.

MIKE:
Micky, we’re on the first floor.

MICKY:
Oh. Could we lower ourselves to the roof?

PETER:
Hey, those are my sheets! And it’s seven forty.

INT. THE PAD

HORACE:
Check on the boys. Give a listen, will ya?

INT. THE PAD - DOWNSTAIRS BEDROOM

MICKY:
I got a roll of pennies.

MIKE:
Very good. Now, we’re gonna bribe our way out, right?

MICKY:
No, no. I hold them in my fist like brass knuckles, give me a fist of iron, smash through the door, man. I’ll be able to—more powerful than a locomotive, man.

MIKE:
Hey, hey, Micky, will you please be careful?

MICKY:
Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. Penny for your thoughts? Heh heh. Huh.

INT. THE PAD - DOWNSTAIRS BEDROOM

HORACE:
What’s going on in here?

MICKY:
Stand back. Both of you. This is nitroglycerin. One false move, and I’ll blow us all to kingdom come. I’m gonna count to ten. One, two, three…

INT. THE PAD

MICKY:
Four, five…

HORACE:
I think they’re bluffing.

MICKY:
Six…

GEORGE:
What if he ain’t?

HORACE:
Boy, are we in trouble?

MICKY:
Drop your guns!

HORACE:
Ow, ow!

MICKY:
Put ’em in the room! Lock ’em up!

PETER:
It’s five minutes to eight.

DAVY:
Come on, fellas. We can still make it.

MICKY:
Come on!

INT. THE PAD - DOWNSTAIRS BEDROOM

GEORGE:
Horace, we gotta get outta here.

HORACE:
It should be easy to get out of a locked room; I’ve seen it in dozens of movies!

INT. THE PAD

DAVY:
Hey, Micky, that was great. What was in that bottle anyway?

MICKY:
How should I know?

INT. THE PAD - DOWNSTAIRS BEDROOM

GEORGE:
Look what I did.

HORACE:
Come on.

“Last Train to Clarksville”

INT. BAND CONTEST - ROOM

[The crowd cheers.]

CONTEST MANAGER:
Thank you, Monkees! And, in a moment, the results of the contest.

PETER:
What he means to say is, we’ll be right back after the commercial.

Tag

INT. BAND CONTEST - ROOM

CONTEST MANAGER:
Having found evidence of foul play in this contest, the judges report the offenders have been apprehended. The victimized parties have been given special consideration. We wish to extend our congratulations to The Monkees for overcoming many obstacles to remain in the contest. And now, the name of the winners of the contest, none other than… Lester Crabtree and the Three Crabs!

[A group of girls start screaming.]

DAVY:
Boy, Lester’s doing alright.

MIKE:
Yeah, but I never even heard him sing.

MICKY:
He doesn’t have to sing; he never gets a chance.

PETER:
Gee, it seems, all it takes in this world to be a big star is to have your clothes ripped off.

MICKY:
That’s all it takes.

INT. SET

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Hey, fellas, fellas. Wait one second, will ya, before you go home?

PETER:
What?

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Take a seat for a second, will ya, fellas?

DAVY:
Can we go?

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Uh, no, it’s just that we’re a minute short, and we’ve got to talk about something, huh.

DAVY:
Another minute short?

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Yeah. The camera is rolling.

PETER:
Why don’t you time your shows better?

MIKE:
Oh, the camera’s on, really?

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Yeah.

MIKE:
Are you serious?

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Yeah. I’m not kidding.

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Since the show’s been on for like a few weeks now, uh, have you heard from any fellas that, like, are out of your past that you haven’t seen in a long while, didn’t even know you were on the show?

MIKE:
Yeah, well, you know, a lot of people call, a lot of people who, who used to say, you know, “You’re gonna go to jail. You’re gonna, you’ll die when you’re twenty-three years old.”

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Mike, is that a prediction that lot of people made about you when you were a kid?

MIKE:
Yeah.

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Why?

MIKE:
Why did they make that prediction?

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Yeah.

MIKE:
Well, I was a pretty rotten kid, you know.

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Were you a loser?

MIKE:
Well… yeah.

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
A victim?

MIKE:
No, just a loser. Huh. I sort of created my own hotbed, you know.

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Yeah.

MIKE:
It was a drag.

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Yeah.

MIKE:
Why don’t, let’s don’t talk about that, bleh.

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Mike, let me ask you this, how about, uh, things that you’re able to get now that were never able to get before, like a car or a motorcycle? Are you digging those things?

MIKE:
Yeah, that’s a groove, you know. That whole scene is a, is a whole other thing, you know. I gotta be very careful, uh.

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Why?

MIKE:
Well, I’ll spend myself bankrupt. You know, big car, and all that kind of stuff. Big house. Big, uh.

PETER:
The universe is permeated with the odor of turpentine.

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
You guys know, of course, that we’ve only got one minute in which to say everything that’s on your minds, don’t you? Collectively, have you got something to say that’s really important?

PETER:
For a minute? Ha ha.

DAVY:
Well, first of all, I really would like to say—

PETER:
—don’t have anything to say—

MICKY:
—Peter, seventy-eight—

PETER:
—really wanna tell you that I—

MIKE:
The only thing about it, man, is that minute is entirely too long for us to tell everything we’ve got on our mind.

BOB RAFELSON (O.S.):
Thanks a lot, Mike. Good night, fellas.

DAVY:
Good night.

MICKY:
Good night.